Come Find Me
by samrosey
Summary: She's no lost girl, gone girl. She's only hiding. He is the stranger who found her, saving himself from his own loneliness at the same time. She's terrified and waiting, holding out for contact. Feel me, come find me. (All human. Edward and Bella.)
1. Chapter 1

**_The names are not mine, the rest is. _**

* * *

She always liked the thought of red wine, the rich colour running deep, full of secrets. Drinking it brought no clarity, only the bitter taste of lonliness. Still, she drank it anyway. Cheap bottle after cheap bottle, chasing sleep for dreams.

She sits on the floor in front of the fire, sipping and reading, counting blue M&M's for dinner, stuck inside imagination. She can't find a job, her savings almost gone. She's lost and sunken into an endless loop of a draining routine, and nothing changes.

No friends, hidden away, no family close by.

In a big house on the edge of town, he sits at the very computer he built with his own hands, clickity-clack, hurried whispers into the emptiness, flowing fast, faster, unable to emancipate himself from them fast enough.

Story time, some true, some not. He longs to write, and write what he longs for. A trauma, he has known. Disfigured by evil, his family torn away from him. Too often alone, too cold to cry, too many rooms for one man. The black sky, devouring him lost. He wants beyond that. A new beginning.

He eventually falls asleep amongst his words. She falls asleep quickly by the fire, burning out, savouring each wave. Warm belly, empty heart.

With the sun, comes the end of dreams. Beginning again, an endless loop for both of them, daily details, separate and unknowing.

He drives his car into the centre of town, meetings for his newest story book. She wanders the streets hoping someone will find her, terrified of what might happen if they do. She's never wanted anything more, and nothing less.

He pulls up to an outrageous looking building, shiny glass doors, grand signs of recognition, fancy people to say fancy things. He decides this will be the last time. Across the street, he enters the bank, trying to buy more time, stalling easy, the suits can wait. It's noisy, and crowded. He thinks to turn and come back later when a flash of red all but blinds him. Bright red shoes, out of the chaos of the busy lives rushing for their money to make for busy days. Red shoes, he can't not see them. They're in his path, his view here, his view there, and attempts to find their owner. She shuffles in the queue, on tiptoes, no luck.

_Show me what you look like_.

She is agitated. She is sweating, wrapped up in her coat and hat. His eyes, from the floor to her knees, along her curves and down her long hair, she is shaking her head, waving her arms, controlled yet manic. Meeting forgotten, he watches intently as she becomes more and more untangled.

She is tears, hot tears, unable to speak to argue anymore. She gathers her things off the counter, identification, proof of address, shoving her purse under her arms, gripping them like they are all she has and spins around to push her way through the long line of people that has formed behind her.

She walks straight for him. He loses his breath at the sight of such despair, crying a sadness he knows nothing about. She doesn't see him, she doesn't see anybody as she tries to push her way out of there.

Brushing past another woman, middle-aged and unimpressed, knocking loose a piece of her tiny world to the floor. He follows her with his eyes, turned around, compelled by such a force. She clumsily makes it through the rotating doors and out into the light. She's gone. Just like that. He waits for a replay, his mind to make sense of what just happened and how he could let her go in such a way. Why didn't anyone stop her? How could they let her just leave? No replay, no girl. Only a card. A bank card? Something much more important... It's her. That face.

He looks around, nobody sees him. He pockets it, and rushes out of the bank. Back to the emptiness of his car, he grasps the card like treasure and flips it over. She was so sad. His stories come to life as he projects them onto her, compiling possibilities for her chaos.

Except the girl in this picture has no tears, no lost girl, gone girl. She is beautiful, ruby lips and brown eyes. She is happy. She is Isabella Swan.

The girl with the red shoes.

* * *

_As some of you will know, this is a reposting. An excuse for me to connect with you again, and to put these stories back where they belong. _

_Nothing new except prose. Nothing changed except better writing (I hope). _

**_Please and thank you! _**


	2. Chapter 2

**The names are not mine, the rest is.**

* * *

He left the dizzying skyscraper across the street from the bank and before he could even think of getting back into his car, he searched for her. Looking into the eyes of every stranger girl he saw. It had been over an hour, little chance of her still being around. Yet he couldn't help but look.

He drove the silent journey home, anxious as ever. No music to listen to, only his mind. Meetings, deadlines, her eyes, Isabella rolling off his tongue.

Too many times to pass people on the street, see a story in their faces, don't know them, couldn't meet them all. And she was just there, right there, another person he wanted to connect with so desperately, but the moment passed by too quickly for him to reach out and take hold.

Look at you looking at me, who knows if we'll even like each other.

So he daydreamed of her, turning up at her house, hearing her repeat his name as he introduces himself, smiling smiles brand new.

She cried all the way home to her tiny bedsit. Caved in, static. Looking in the window of the restaurant below, she waves to a familiar face. Nice people. Though they never truly felt real to her, however kind. Offerings of food, and generosity always seemed to come at the right time, it was as if they knew. It was as if they knew more about her than they could possibly know. Paranoid. She was lonely, so she took their food, hoping for company. She pined for someone, anyone to listen as she cried, a shoulder to rest her head. She hadn't felt that kind of warmth in a while.

The bank had agreed to hold interest charges in light of the first payment, overdrawn they said. Avoiding scary terms like bad credit, as they're thrown so carelessly. She had been careless, she hadn't done this very well. Looking around her tiny home, she found the strength to be grateful. Overwhelmed by simple things such as books and hot water.

When life felt too much, she would lie in the bath, soaking in her pain until she felt so weak, she might drown. She knew then, it was time to get out, time to carry on. She was fine alone. Fine is okay.

Smoke and fresh air, he stood leaning against the gate leading to the massive garden he hadn't been out to in so long. He didn't know how to accept the joy it brought him.

He thought about mailing the card back to her, sending her a note along with it. That would mean he wouldn't get to see her, to greet her the way he wished. Oh, but he had to see her again, and have her face him. He wanted to know if this feeling of absolute need could be made real or left to fantasy.

She sat at the table, begging to force the dates and numbers to comply with reality. Awakening filled the room like ticker tape. She thought about going downstairs, opening the door to herself, and asking for a job. She could do that, she could turn it all off, and do what needs to be done. Anxiety filled her up like a balloon, bursting, bursting, until the air was sucked back in, strangulating, threatening to suffocate completely.

Cold, hard two-person table, mocking her with an empty chair. She rested her cheek, pressing her ear to the surface, outside sounds flattened and obscure.

_This is exactly what my life is, a series of muffled noises, confining myself inside a neccessary bubble, it's time to get out. Get out._

Hours later, sore fingers, aching back, she sits over a bucket of potatoes. There's no end to the damp, undry feeling of this shapeless room. Skin wrinkled, just the same as after a long bath. A bath, she could do with a bath, sweaty kitchen smell, clothes clinging to her underarms, her legs. They had given her a job as a dishwasher, a potato peeler. She thought about the isolation, at least she didn't have to interact with many people. At least there would be money. Think about the money.

At the wheel, he sits perfectly still, finding himself unable to get out, now that he's actually here, deep in the city, the day grows darker and darker. He checks the address one more time. This is it. Rich leather, red velvet, old money. He stares up at the windows above the restaurant. The lights are off. Is she asleep?

The entryway is dimly lit. He looks around, no doorbell, no letterbox, no numbers and no names, only a latch. He opens it, wood wet from this tumultuous day. He take the stone steps slowly to find another door that reads 18A, this is it. Hovering, waiting, too tense to be sure whether he's ready to part with the piece of this woman he can't seem to shake.

Post it. Knock or post it. Leave or post it. Leave.

Finally posting it, pulling away way too quickly, as if the access to her insides could swallow him whole, he runs down the steps, swinging the outer door shut behind him. Propping himself against it, he catches a breath.

Back to the car, back on the long road that leads to empty houses, ghostly voices, no presence, no body, soft skin to touch. No witnesses outside of each of their own minds. Sat for a while, he doesn't want to leave.

_What am I doing? She knows nothing of me. Stalker. Stranger. Go home._

Foot on the peddle, he pushes the car to new speeds, get away and shake it off. Gone.

Stepping out onto the moody street this night, never more thankful for only a few feet to walk. She pushes the heavy door inside, and slumps against it as she pulls the key out.

A crisp envelope with her name on it, sits on the floor. Her floor.

_Isabella Swan_

The floor is closer now.

_Nobody knows I'm here._

Back against the locked front door, letter opened, she pulls it from the envelope as if it might bite her, slowly, carefully, no sudden movements.

A card falls from the paper, into her lap, she picks it up puzzled. This is hers. How did it get here? Unfolding the letter she reads, and as she reads, she feels herself begin to shake, this a joke. Looking around, trying to find... something, anything, nothing. Her heart is pounded, beating free with each sentence, rising and falling with each word. Tears streaming down her face once more.

* * *

**_Please and thank you! *_**


	3. Chapter 3

**The names are not mine, the rest is.**

* * *

Her heartache was palpable, confusing sorrow and surprise.

_**Your tear soaked face, sadness I wanted to hold**_**  
**  
She had been awake all night, reading his words over and over again.

_**Eyes frantic to make right the wrongs that fell upon you**_

Isabella lay on the edge of the bed, a strangers note held up towards the light.

_**Sadness I wanted to hold **_

She hadn't even realised she had misplaced her ID card. Hand delivered, she began to wonder what he was like.

_He's been here, seen me... seen me again. Did he watch me leave? Did I see him? Why didn't he talk to me then? _

Eventually sleep came and she dreamed of a man with grace, a tall man, maybe with blue, or green eyes. A man without secrets and lies, a beautiful man with a big heart. Whoever he really was, it didn't matter, he couldn't possibly be real.

He wanted to scream and shout, for the first time in as many days he wanted to use his voice completely, and will it all to life. He was tired of simply existing. He selected a record, and filled the house with music instead. The ghost of a synth played out, accompanied by a woman's voice, together they clothed him, tempting him to rip it all away and start again. His days could be so different from this. He closed his eyes to mayhaps, and let today's day sink in. He wanted her to use the address inside the letter. To show up here, and be exactly how he imagined.

Fantasy.

A mad man, how could such a girl, such a woman, turn up in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere to a strangers home by request. Face to face. Insane. Oh, but how he wished she would.

She spent her days curled up with his words. At night, she went to work in the dirty clothes from the day before.

He spent his days writing, distraction upon distraction. In sleep, he wished for things that could never happen. She had been made divine in his one single memory of her, and couldn't seem to forget.

Five days and nothing, his thoughts for the girl and her pain grew stronger. He had fears, ones of shiny coloured wrapping, layer after layer, there was nothing there to find.

She read his letter so much it began to get tatty. She knew she could never write back. Her words were not beautiful like his. No way to get to him to ask her questions, unable to afford the fare. She let the days pass her by without action. Regretting every single one.

The winter nights made her more thankful for her kitchen work, sweaty heat at the restaurant, no fuel for fire at home. The owner, Benny, started her on two nights a week waiting tables as well as potato peeling, who knew what happened to the girl she replaced. She took the offer in hopes of saving enough money to meet her writer man, but felt anxious about the people she would have to face. Their deep eyes, deep wallets and deep glasses of whiskey made her jumpy.

Black skirt, white blouse, long curly hair. She's more of a woman out front. She much prefers sitting in back with the food, instead of on show. Tips for a service she doesn't feel comfortable taking, generous cats, following through with what's expected of her. She saw how the other girls were, and knew she needed to learn to be more like them.

One man continues to leave her a fifty note every time he comes. Twice a week he shows up, the same nights she waits. Benny said it's not uncommon for fellas, and to pay him extra attention, he must like her. She's not afraid of people talking, unafraid of connection, only concerned with what they might want in return.

Smiling smiles without ever really seeing him, she refuses eye contact, and refuses to be sucked in by whatever he wants for his money. Be pleasant, do your job, don't stand so close.

She lies in the water at night to keep warm, and wonders if he will even remember writing to her. He never came back after that night, so maybe that's all there needs to be.

_**Other peoples stories, a life with tall ceilings. Of all the made up ones, I wanted to write yours, make you smiling. Brown eyes, red shoes. **_

She let his poetry take hold, repeating lines from his letter, allowing them to wash over her, heartbeats, lips parted. No face, just a touch, no voice, just his gift. Skin on skin, overwhelmed by the flood of emotion, eyes shut tight, don't lose it.

_**Your scent as you passed me, I looked for you. I looked knowing you're not really there. Insane, impossible. **_

Frantic movements to make it course, catching breath, it's no use, how real was he?

_I wish you would come find me._

_**I looked for you.**_

_For me_. Her insides falling further, pulsing, water colours and desire. Lost inside her own fantasy, she sinks heavy, her own arousal by her own making. Followed by no release, only hurt and tears.

Sleeping heavy, she woke to a message from Benny, the girl that left is back so he doesn't need her out front anymore. So much for those fifties, so much for her plan to flee for the man who isn't real.

He sits at the table he's sat at twice a week waiting to see her face. She never makes eye contact and he never speaks. Tonight's the night, he'll finally tell her who he is.

A girl who looks vaguely familiar takes his order, but she's not Isabella. Concerned by her absence, he thinks to enquire but hesitates. That's weird.

Two whole days and one more night, he returns to see the same girl take his order, to feel the same disappointment when she turns out to not be Isabella.

It's icy cold as he sits in the car outside the restaurant, outside the home he knows she lives in... used to live in? Just knock, just see.

Quick feet, quick breaths of wet air, meet the steps, it's late, too late.

_Should I wait for daylight? I might scare her._

He stands outside number 18A and lifts his fist to knock. He drops it. Knock and don't fuck it up.

She steps out of the bath and wraps herself in a towel, hair dripping wet. Startled by a knock at the door, she's frozen, inside and out.

_It's Benny, just Benny, and nobody else. Nobody else knows I'm here. _

She leaves the chain on and opens it the few inches it will go. It's not Benny.

"Hello?"

She was half naked, a strange man in the night. _Close the door! _

He made no move to speak, still his mouth was open.

"Hello, can I help you, who are you looking for?"

"Isabella Swan, number 18A."

_No, you're messing it up. Use your words, real words. _

"I am Isabella Swan."

"I know. I mean yes, I'm sorry, I'm sorry to drop by so late."

"Who are you? Look I don't have any money to give so if you can just go some place else."

"I don't want money. I just want... Are you okay?"

She was confused, and unable to see him clearly through the gap in the door.

"What? Look, I'm closing the door now. Please kindly leave, I think you have the wrong person."

"No! It's you. I know it's you from your picture, and from the restaurant. What happened, why did you leave?"

She was terrified.

"Who sent you? You know what, you can just go, just go back and you tell them to leave me alone okay, just leave me alone."

_Close the door already... _

"Isabella, I'm... I... didn't you get it?"

"What, did I get what? Please just go, I'm closing the door now, please don't tell them anything. Just go."

"The letter, Isabella, _my _letter. I wrote you a letter but I guess you didn't get it. I'm Edward Cullen and I found your ID, you dropped it and..."

"Edward?" Her voice, nothing but a whisper.

"Edward Cullen. Yes."

She closed the door on him and he was confused, should he leave, knock again? The first time didn't go very well.

Edward was surprised to see the door open fully this time. Isabella standing in full view, wet, hair, wet hair, wrapped in a towel.

"_You _wrote me that letter?"

"Yes. Hello Isabella, my name is Edward Cullen."

He held out his hand hoping for hers in return, except she just stared at him, moments passing by without any sound, only silence and space. She couldn't speak, she didn't know what to say, so she simply turned around and walked away from him, hoping he would follow.

* * *

**_Please and thank you! * _**


	4. Chapter 4

**The names are not mine, the rest is. **

_The 'decisive moment' belongs to __Henri Cartier-Bresson__._

* * *

She made Edward turn away, she needed a minute. Her place was so small, there was nowhere to go but right there, with him.

He waited, hearing the sound of her breathing as she rushed to right herself. He wanted to focus instead on her things. He was surrounded by everything Isabella. This was no dream, but a dream come to life.

He fought the feeling to explain to this person how he had craved her. How he had spent his time pulling threads to gain more, to learn whatever he could by watching her work. His knowledge of her was so limited, he felt handicapped. This is the person he had been clinging to for so many weeks now. What was she thinking? She had even less to go on than he did, was she even thinking of him at all? At least he had given something of himself to her, a letter.

She stood staring at his back, wondering what to do next.

She watched him, watching her things, trying to find out who she was. He was looking at the open book on the table, about to pick it up.

"Why didn't you ever speak to me?"

He looked up to see her, lovely, no longer frightened.

_Who had she imagined me, coming to scare her?_

He wondered too much, and hoped to find out everything.

"You think I don't remember you from Benny's, you don't leave a person tips like that and not be remembered. And if you are in fact Edward... Edward who wrote me the letter then why didn't you ever speak to me?"

She never noticed him the way she's noticing him now. She never looked into his eyes, only smiling in his direction as a thank you and nothing more.

_Thank you for your kindness, I can't give you anything in return. _

She wished she had. She wished she'd have known it was him.

"I wanted to, believe me."

His mouth stayed open as if more words were coming, but they never did.

"And now?" She couldn't find herself, not the way she wanted to. Her voice kept trying to get stuck in her throat on the way out. She felt annoyed.

"And now?"

"Thank you for returning my card to me, you didn't have to come all the way out here."

She wasn't saying any of the things she wanted to say, what she thought she might say in this moment, of all the things, it wasn't this. All the times she dreamed of it, of him, it never went the way it was going now.

"You have green eyes."

Her voice sounded sweet, and excited but her body language was loud and uninviting, she turned away quickly so he could no longer see her face.

But he was still looking at her, gaping at her, unashamed. He never planned to sit at the restaurant each time he had, it happened once and he couldn't bring himself to speak up, she wouldn't even look at him long enough, just smiles, no teeth. So close, no feeling. So he kept going back hoping he would finally connect with her the next time.

"You didn't see me that day in the bank."

"No there was a, I don't know, misunderstanding of sorts," She's fidgety, playing with the ties of her robe, pulling it tight, tighter. She had always been a nervous girl, "Do you want some tea or something?"

All he could really tell was that she didn't want him to leave, at least not yet. So he said yes, pleased by her offer to stay.

She made tea and he looked around at more of her things, her place clean but cluttered. Mostly books, blankets, pillows. She liked candles and had only one piece of art on the wall.

He was sat on the sofa when she returned. She placed everything on the table and picked up the book he had been looking at. He held his hand out to stop her losing the page and took it from her, motioning for her to sit with him.

"Show me where you are."

She moved closer and pointed to the part she had been reading earlier in the day. He could see more of her skin when she sat like this, beautiful.

"May I?" He took her hand and held it, using her own fingertips to guide his lines.

"There is nothing in this world that does not have a decisive moment."

She was facing him instead of looking at the book, instead of looking at their hands together. She wanted to allow this feeling of contact to take over, to let whatever was happening take control. She closed her eyes and wished he would never let go.

_I've missed this feeling._

The girl was lonely.

Like light rain, a whispery mist, falling down like pins, what a comfortable biting his touch was to her.

He spoke the words so softly, allowing the double meaning of the moments they belonged to linger. She felt herself begin to lighten with anticipation.

"The simultaneous recognition, in a fraction of a second, of the significance of an event as well as the precise organization of forms which gives that event its proper expression... the smallest thing... The little human detail..."

Edward turned to face her, but it was too much. What if this really was a trick? She began to pull her hand away, her fingers slipping from his but he curled his hand around hers, fighting it, he couldn't let go now.

_I don't know what I'm doing. _

He held on longer than he should, wanting to capture this moment some more.

She's so fragile, trembling. A soft pink across her skin, she's warm, she's blushed.

She pulled her hand free, stood up and took the book from his lap.

"Isabella, I..."

"You should go." She stood, shaking, not really wanting him to leave.

"Your letter was beautiful. It made me feel things... I'm sorry, but they're not real. I don't know you, and you certainly don't know me."

_Let him go, make him go. Make him never leave. Come back. Stay! Leave while you can. _

"But I want to know you. And for some reason, I want to tell you to come with me right now." Edward's words were playing games with her insides. Flip, flip. Fly, fly.

"I want to know you too." Her voice was like a child's. She looked down at the floor, at her feet, embarrassed by herself.

"Then won't you let me come back sometime?"

She could only nod in response.

He stood up just to be near her and whispered into the space between them, "Then I shan't wait too long."

"But... I can't promise you anything. I might not always be here."

He reached out to take her hand but she didn't want to give it. She had to think about this, and what it all meant. She deserved a friend, someone to talk to, to confide in even, maybe.

"A friend?"

"A friend." He dropped his hand, and turned for the door, but not before looking back once more. His smile was brilliant, not hurt from her rejection like she worried he might be.

"Sweet dreams, Isabella."

Edward left, the girl unmoving, standing in her blue robe.

He got in his car and drove away from her, past the grotty flats hidden above in the dark, and past the seedy places of business surrounding the so-called family restaurant she had taken up work in. His gut told him to throw her over his shoulder, take her some place else so they can learn each other anew without any worries. He knew not everyone could afford to live the way he lived but didn't understand why people didn't take more care with their choices. He felt unsettled, not knowing what could come of her up there.

He knew only two things, the road beneath him, and her. He knew he would go home tonight, but he would most certainly be back tomorrow.

* * *

_You are all lovely! Thank you *_


	5. Chapter 5

**The names are not mine, the rest is. **

* * *

She worked all day at the restaurant hoping he would come back, and that she wouldn't miss him when he did. She wanted to stay home, and now that she was here, she thought about leaving, going upstairs and waiting for him, that way she would know, she would know for sure when he came back that maybe he was true. What she was doing here felt like so much less than that. It was mind-numbing. Endless peeling, slicing, dicing, dying. Washing and wiping, rinse and repeat.

The chaos of the kitchen was nice for her, usually, it allowed her to stay still, stay quiet, it allowed her to go unnoticed except for, "Where are my sweet potatoes, Isa?" "You call this diced, Isa?" She felt okay in the middle of this kind of rushing, pushing motion. Usually.

But when everything stopped, when everyone stilled, just as small as she, she felt worried again. When it fell quiet, she knew it could only be for one reason... Benny was mad. She could hear him yelling, shouting at someone in the back room. He sounded furious. Nobody could look at each other then, even though they were all wondering why, they just looked away, and carried on.

She knew Benny had a lot of friends, the restaurant was always busy. She gathered he was a somebody in a place where most people were nobodies. She had seen his temper when things went wrong, but he had always been good to her, mostly because of his wife.

It felt as if hot liquid had begun to drip on her finger, like someone had spilled hot soup. When she looked down, there was blood, lots of blood. The food she sat over, ruined entirely. She walked quickly into the bathroom to clean up, digging through the first aid box for plasters. She felt anxious, she felt pain, she felt stupid, and before she could think of what to tell Benny, he was standing in the doorway.

"My darling Isabella, what happened? Come here to me, let uncle Benny see."

He came at her, hands out in front of him. She had come to like Benny since she first arrived, he was like that over-familiar family friend that was nice enough but always made you feel a bit uncomfortable. She knew he was capable of other extremes too, but tried to ambrace his kindness, for that was all she had now. She didn't say very much, only thinking that she wished his wife was there with them to comfort her. Still, she was glad to have Benny and his fussing instead of him being angry with her.

He led her to the back room, his office of sorts, and told her to sit. She was hot, cold, hungry, and felt a little weak. The only thing she had eaten today were the ends of the carrots she had been dicing.

"We fix you up, good as new, and then you take some dinner home, okay, honey."

"It's just a nick, I'm fine. Thanks for taking care of me but I think I'll be okay to go back to work now." She got up to leave, "Oh, and tell that lovely lady of yours, I said hello. And that we miss her around here when she's away." She did miss her. Warm arms embracing, baskets of breakfast outside her door in the morning, she was attentive like a mother might be. Except she wasn't her mother, and whenever they got too close, she felt as though maybe she didn't want to be either.

She tried to add more pressure to her cut finger, squeezing it, as if it would make the bleeding stop. She held a towel to it, now filthy with her mess. It wasn't a nick, but deep slices, perfect and practiced.

"No, no, sit some more, I have something to talk about, come." He motioned back to the chair. Feeling forced she sat. She felt sickly, and sitting was nice.

"The people that come here, they're important to me. You know that. They like you, beautiful, fresh, shame I couldn't keep you out there, easy on the eyes, Isa. Especially rich eyes." He was pointing at her, laughing, so pleased with himself as his belly shook. "Mr. Victor wants to offer you a new job, out of the kitchen. Exciting, uh? I have a good feeling about this."

She tried to look happy on the outside, grateful. She felt very uneasy on the inside, and more curious than she wanted to be. She didn't want to think it, but she knew it would be a lot of money, and maybe one day, if she saved enough, she could move somewhere else. Somewhere nicer, with separate rooms, and maybe a car, and a cat. She wanted more, now that she was on her own.

"What kind of work?"

"Open mind bambino, open mind." He pointed at her some more, but this time he wasn't laughing, he was serious. "Victor wants you for nice things, no cutting, no more hot kitchen. You can look pretty for him, my darling, he take you to dinner and more. You know."

No. She didn't know. But this definitely sounded like something she wanted no part of. It sounded wrong. It sounded sexual. It sounded like she didn't have a choice.

"But I already have a job, working for you." She tried to smile a real smile, she tried to seem grateful yet sorry she couldn't do it. "It would just be too much to do both, and I promised your wife. But I fully appreciate Mr. Victor's offer, though I will have to decline. Please pass on my apologies to him."

Unstable legs, racing heart. Go back to the kitchen, anywhere but here. Run home. Take a bath. A bath, and stitches.

She jumped, startled as Benny hit the table with his fist. She turned to face him, and he was already coming for her, fists hung like an animal.

"Don't be so quick, I give you jobs, somewhere to sleep at night. Don't think I couldn't get more for what you're paying. I like you, but you have to work with me, here. You're young, this is easy work, easy work!"

Isabella stood shaking, soaked through cloth forgotten on the floor. The pain didn't feel as bad anymore. Or maybe that was an illusion. She was much more focused on the big man towering over her.

Benny exhaled, loud and sputtery in her face. He leaned in, and grabbed her by the chin, not too hard, more uncomfortable than anything, his skin was rough and sweaty. She didn't know what was more surprising, that she didn't scream or cry, or that this was actually happening to her.

"You will do this, think of the money, you will be able to have anything you want. And if you don't, I'll find someone else to live upstairs. Yes? Isabella!" He wasn't really asking, he was telling.

"Benny really, I.." He cut her off, squeezing her at the jaw, squeezing hard, she closed her eyes, and inhaled. Now it hurt. Now it really hurt.

Struggling, she pushed on him with her bloody hand, and he let go, but only so he could grab her by the hair. He was strong, but not too strong she thought. He looked greasy this close up, dirty almost, and smelled of something that made bile rise up into her throat. She swallowed it down as he spat more horrible words at her. He told her over and over that she would do as he says. That he would take away the only things she has.

Isabella made no sound, only breathing. Banging at the doors to the inside of her chest, she was only trying to stay alive, to not let the panic take over and cause a heart attack. She knew it would be over soon, she was too valuable to him in this moment, she knew it. He wanted her to do this too much. That meant only two things, he was either being forced to, or he was getting paid. Probably both.

She struggled to look away from his face, his almost black eyes, as he swore and commanded. The sweat dripping down on his head as he screamed at her, threatening awful things, was smelly, like something disgusting was seeping from his pores.

She wanted to close her eyes and scream for someone, anyone. But there was no one. No one but him.

In the dark upstairs, Edward stood outside her door not getting an answer. He had peered through the restaurant window to see the same girl from before. Isabella wasn't there. She hadn't been there at all this week, and realised he should have asked her about it last night. A silent, sleeping beauty, he imagined behind that door. He was sorry he was too late, and wished to see her peaceful face as she dreamed.

Morning felt too far away, so he knocked again, hoping to wake her, ready to apologise for not really being sorry.

With still no answer, he finally pulled himself away, forlorn, and terribly embarrassed by how much he wanted to see her.

"Isabella, are we clear, am I to tell Mr. Victor you will meet with him?" Pushing her against the door of his office, Benny's grip on her hair, no less tight, she nodded frantically. _Let me go, please let me go. _

"Isabella!"

"Yes, Benny, yes. I will meet with him."

He finally let go of her and stepped away, brushing himself off like he had been rolling around in dirt, smoothing the creases of his clothes.

"Go home, clean yourself up. I'll get the information to you." Turning to leave, she felt relieved to be able to walk out of there. Only Benny wasn't done, he called after her once more. "Don't forget to take some food with you, it only goes to waste. Goodnight, Isa." He waved her off as if none of that had actually occured. As if he hadn't assaulted her, threatened her. She almost felt a little scared to leave but not enough to make her stay.

Once she was back in the kitchen, she began to run, slamming the door, taking off through the restaurant. She found it difficult to stop her legs from moving faster than her mind wanted to take her. The place looked so different to her eyes now, she felt afraid. Afraid like she should have been when she first arrived here. She didn't take any food like she has been instructed, she just let her feet carry her home, to the tiny flat upstairs, to be safe. Except it wasn't safe, not really, not anymore.

She ran along the pavement and almost threw herself at the big wooden door that led to the steps, the steps that led to new plans, and new runaway girls. Bloodied hand, keys and shaky fingers, she yelped as she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her cry was fear, her realisation elation. Edward stood there looking at her, looking at her face, and the blood. He was concerned for her. He looked almost angry, but how could that be? They were strangers.

"Isabella, why are you crying, what happened to your hand?"

She felt stunned, she felt nothing and everything all at once.

Tears for all that she had been holding in, hiding in. Tears for lonliness, and her feeble attempt at making a life for herself.

Benny had been the closest thing to family. Her home, his home. He had always been so nice to her.

She shook and sobbed, and finally let it all out. Edward held her softly, pulling the girl into him. He was warm, he smelled of something nice, and if she was going to leave, she wanted to remember only this. Not the bad man, and the bad pain of his unwanted hands, and his horrible demands. She clung to Edward now, crying for her life, and what it had become.

Standing in the dark with this man she didn't know. Running from another man she thought she knew, and who was she now anyway? They didn't really know either.

* * *

_Please and thank you *_


	6. Chapter 6

_**The names are not mine, the rest is. **_

* * *

She tried to forget what she knew, or what she told herself she needed to know about a person before going with them in their car, to their house, in the middle of the night. Isabella was lost in this neverending day, sobbing in the arms of a man she had only dreamed about. She told herself over and over, he couldn't possibly be one and the same, yet he was still there, saving her in a way she didn't know she wanted. Isabella, crumbling to pieces, unsure of what was real, and who to trust. She didn't have the answers, or a place to go, except with Edward.

Silent sadness made aloud, she was embarrassed, and totally exposed. The tears, they fell the longest, not stopping until the drive did. Drops of regret heated her cheeks, she was exhausted.

Edward had all but carried her straight to his car, wrapped in his coat. He had tied a handkerchief around her finger and strapped her in, she curled up on the seat facing him. He hadn't thought twice before pulling her away from that place, he hadn't questioned his reaction to seeing her in such a way, and she never responded to his questions, but it didn't matter. None of that other stuff mattered now that they were here, at his home.

The night was dead calm, blackest trees and colourless blooms. The house sat like a sleeping giant, with no lights leading the way, and no indication of life but their own.

He had opened her door, leaned in and unbuckled her. If it weren't for her eyes being open, he would have thought she was asleep. He was beyond worried, and completely at his wits end with what to do next. He wanted to help her out, to hold the troubles that were burying her, he could see them all so clearly, and felt immense empathy for her.

He walked away from the car, hoping she would follow. He wanted her to choose to go with him, to keep breathing for more, and to stay alive so he could learn all about the girl she was meant to be.

Lit staircase, dark halls, she finally stepped in behind him. She wanted to be awake for this, to be giving and appreciative. She wanted him to know it all without her having to tell him, she wanted him to look at her and just see.

They passed room after room, leaving her with brand new questions of her own. She began to wonder about him, and wondering was good.

Edward opened the door to a large room with a huge bed. There wasn't much else in there except old trinkets, and paintings of things she didn't know on the walls. She walked quickly over to the bed, it looked so comfortable, and sat on the edge, unsure.

Edward knelt at her side.

"What are you doing?" Her voice sounded fragile, if only she knew how strong she really was.

"You need to sleep." Fingers, warm fingers pushed her hair aside. She closed her eyes and felt the comfort for what it was instead of what it could be.

"Isabella, I'm not asking anything of you, just that you sleep."

He leaned forward and loosened her pumps, she lifted her feet and climbed into bed. He wanted to ask if she would prefer to change, he wanted to offer her things she might need. She was still in his coat, her hair damp from the tears. He took his leave and let her lie.

Pacing between awake and sleep, he found himself too scared to make a sound, so he sat at the window seat at the end of the hallway, his room where she slept just a few feet away. Broken in two before tonight, how solid she remains, all that had happened to her, he could only imagine.

He checked on her a few times throughout the night and eventually fell asleep for a while, hard head against the cold window.

He woke to a loud thump coming from his bedroom, and froze for a few seconds before running to her. She was still sleeping, gripping the pillow to her body, lying on the floor. Her face distressed, her forehead covered in sweat. Her breathing stilled but her grip was infinite. He took her hand prying her fingers apart, hoping to put her back to bed. She woke frightened, and jumpy.

"You were having a bad dream."

She sat up, and pulled the pillow to her for comfort.

"Are you okay? Do you want to take a shower, or maybe a bath if you would like? There's a robe hanging on the door, and I can loan you something to wear or I could wash your clothes for you?"

"Maybe you should just take me home, I..."

"You're here now, stay for a while?" He smiled at her but she didn't smile back.

"Please," He motioned towards his bathroom, "It's my pleasure, I'll put something out for you just in case..." He got up to walk away.

"Edward."

"Isabella?"

"Thank you."

She meant it for more, he knew it so, and smiled in return. His eyes were so light now, she had never seen them so brilliant before.

He let her get ready and headed for the kitchen.

He wanted to make breakfast, he didn't know what she would prefer, so he made anything and everything he had that he thought she might like.

After a while the smell of cooked foods and sweet fruit began to drift through the house.

Isabella stood beneath the hot spray, and wished it was all so simple. Her body felt bruised, felt weak. She longed for something good to come and wash it all away.

She looked around at his things, the items he used, the routines he had, she imagined he was in there with her. That she felt him step behind her, and rest his palms against the wall. She knew the things that she thought of, the things that she enjoyed when she was alone and wondered if he liked the same, if he had done the same in there, where she stood, or perhaps in the bed she had slept in.

She tried not to think of last night, of Benny, or his demands. She didn't know where it all left her, so she thought about something else.

She washed herself using his soaps, and wrapped herself in his towels. She stood at the foot of his bed, staring at the clothes he had laid out for her; a blue shirt and some shorts. She changed into them and shook her hair over her head so it wouldn't stick like a pancake to the sides of her face.

She bundled her clothes in her arms and took them with her as she headed for the stairs. She felt anxious, she still felt delicate, as if she had gone five rounds with someone much stronger, someone much more skilled than she.

She had no shoes on, the floor was cold. It felt nice, she felt like tiptoeing, carrying herself through the house like a secret.

She found Edward sitting at a table in the kitchen, waiting for her.

"There you are, come and sit, I didn't know what to make so I... just made everything!" He laughed at himself and she stood smiling at him, creases at her eyes, and dimples in her cheeks, more real than he had ever seen from her.

"Oh, I'll put those in the wash, it shouldn't take long. I hope the shorts are okay, I thought they would be better than my sweats, too long, you know."

"They're fine, thank you."

"Good. Come sit with me, take anything you want."

He had a way, so confident and easy. She wished to be like that so she could thank him, and seem like she meant it. She wanted to be kind to him in return for his help. She wanted so much, but most of all, to be in someone elses body, someone more capable. She was convinced there was a time before when she had been capable. A time before when things weren't so dramatic, so dark. She had a plan once, she felt completely done with hopeless, and thought that maybe Edward was the reason why.

He ate eggs and bacon and she tried some toast. She wanted too devour it all, she felt like she could. Only the sickly feeling from yesterday still sat in the pit of her stomach.

"Why does it feel like we..." She didn't finish, she felt silly.

"We didn't, _I_ didn't... do you remember what happened last night? You were so upset, I was worried..."

"I don't mean _that_, I would have remembered _that_, I wasn't completely catatonic. I remember what happened. This just all feels... I'm so confused." Shaking her head she wished she hadn't said anything, she wasn't even sure what she meant.

"Talk to me, Isabella." He reached his hand across the table, but his fingers lingered in the space between them. She looked down at them, not speaking, or moving to meet him.

"I'm fine, it doesn't matter. Thank you for this."

More talking, all the questions, he wanted answers, he wanted to press her, he didn't want her to go home, to go back to work without him knowing what had happened. She was more upset last night than that day in the bank, how did she hurt her hand, did someone do that to her?

"How's your finger?"

"Oh it's much better, see..." She raised it right in front of his face, a thin line, deep but not wide, no more blood, clean.

"It doesn't look as bad now, there was a lot of blood, I thought you might need a doctor." She looked up into his eyes, green like trees after the rain.

"I didn't even notice it right away, everyone was so on edge because Benny was so mad, but I just didn't add pressure for long enough, and it just kept bleeding."

The cut really didn't look that bad now. Maybe none of it was. Maybe it wasn't over either. If she could just talk to Benny's wife.

The biggest smile spread across his face, his hand still waiting for her, too stubborn to pull away. She joined him, smiling that smile he decided he liked, the one with teeth. But they couldn't stay like that forever, and both of them giggled. Giggles turned to laughter and for a minute it was like friends, not strangers.

It was as simple as running away with him in the night, wearing his clothes, and eating his food. It was as lovely as sleeping in his bed, and watching his fingers twitch now and then with impatience, waiting for her to hold them. It was as old as two hearts, broken, in need of mending.

A low buzzing signalled the end of the wash cycle and in turn ended their moment. He went to put them in the dryer, it wouldn't take long.

He came back but he didn't sit, he stood behind her, his mouth near her ear, "I want to show you something."

He led her to the library, his favourite room. She liked to read, he knew that, he had seen all of her books. He had the same book they read together, the night she let him in.

As soon as Isabella saw the walls lined with books, she felt better, as if everything and nothing was inside this room, and it all fit together somehow, still existing. It could have been filled with bird books, children's books, books she'd read a hundred times. It was truly amazing to her.

The smell of the room, noticing which books had broken spines, and which ones didn't. Old, new, some in protective plastic, lines and lines of them, next to each other, side by side. She had spent a good part of the savings she once had on books, except her walls looked nothing like this, her books lay about on the floor, on top of each other, candles lit, wax spilled, open, closed, half read, forgotten, but not left behind. This place was fantastical, transcending anything and everything she could ever imagine.

There was a book, red like roses, like the kind on Valentine's day, and thick like the bible. She stood staring at it, her head tilted to the side in order to read the tiny letters. Excited, she moved closer to see if it really was the one she thought, "They hold way too much, the secrets and lies, the lives and deaths. How can we... with such an object of passion? I need..."

Edward hadn't been able to take his eyes off her this whole time, she had come to life right before his eyes. He found her to be magical. "Imagination is a powerful thing, Isabella." Whispered words so close, she was tickled, she was sprung from one world into another.

She remembered that book, and found she could still place herself inside it as easily as yesterday. She had been standing on the precipice, and felt as if there was no way back, and no way forward. When she was alone, this is what she had for comfort. The red book full of words she could tell you right now, no pages to guide or fingers to touch. Not even his fingers or his whispers, she thought could take the weight that was crushing her. She hoped she wouldn't feel so heavy, and so lost forever.

He began playing with the ends of her hair, twisting it around his finger, and letting it spring back in place. She didn't move, she just let him play as she continued to touch each book on the same row as the red one. She felt like this was a test. A test to see what was okay, and what wasn't. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her, or make her think he was just waiting for something unspoken. He wanted to show her she was affecting him, he wanted to tell her, to say the words instead, but his words felt like nothing in that room they were in.

He let go of her hair, and danced a line of smiles along her arm, she felt lovely, and he felt happy. He longed to hold her the same way he did last night when she needed him, but he wasn't sure what she needed now.

Her hand was right there, and he wanted to take it. He traced her palm with his fingers, delicate, and she turned to face him, quickly, like a breeze in the wind. He wasn't ready to meet her eyes, shiny green on brown. They fell into one another easily, his fingers against her fingers, he linked them together, and she let him. He held her hand, and she gave a gentle squeeze to tell him yes. She said please and told him thank you, and then she was gone, "Can you take me home?"

She spoke into him, her words blowing away the lust that they had both felt.

A small part of her wanted him to protest. But she couldn't tell him, or let herself admit that she wanted him to keep on saving her.

"Of course, anything you want."

He left to fetch her clothes, leaving her standing in his shorts, in his library, in his home. She stood thinking about what was waiting for her back at her home. Alone.

* * *

_**Please and thank you! ***_


	7. Chapter 7

**_The names are not mine, the rest is._**

* * *

Goodbyes were painful, and unexpectedly final after a wondrous night of beginnings. She gave him pieces on their drive back, but never too many. Her cut finger, work being unmanageable, she played on stress and being fed up, explaining how she simply had to do it alone. Her way out was a plan she found she could put in place and follow through, her way out was paramount.

Isabella stood at the door, just like that first night, afraid to close it.

"I don't want to say goodbye right now."

"Then don't."

"Will you just go? And I'll close it later."

"Isabella..."

"Why do you say my name like that? I'm right here, there's nobody else."

"I like how it sounds." Isabella he knew for sure, the rest wasn't so certain.

"I'm fine."

"I know."

"You do?"

"I do."

"What about you? What will you do?"

"Lurk around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl who shuns me."

"I would never." They hadn't done this yet. They were doing it now, and it felt nice. It felt easy.

"I'm going in now. Please don't stay, it will be too hard if you do."

"I promise I'll walk away." Only to come back, again and again, he knew he would.

Late afternoon, working heat, the day began with deep breaths, and wills that were strong. There were no plans to confront Benny about his behaviour, or grand schemes to avoid Mr. Victor.

Another way forward, perhaps another girl, change is good. Whatever was going to happen, Benny was still there. She hoped his outburst was purely due to pressure, and after reflecting upon her reaction to his demands, he wouldn't force the issue. She hoped, and that was all she had.

She couldn't stop thinking about the red book that Edward somehow had. She had really wanted to hold it, to finger the pages, to read it again from cover to cover, only to start back at the beginning, and then fall asleep with it. She had almost cried standing there with him. But then he held her hand and the tears never came. Torn apart with the what ifs, letting go, and falling free. The truest truth come to life, she could let go then, the crazy notion of doing as Benny says, she could just fly, untangled, straight into Edward. If that's what he wanted too. She wanted him in her life, almost too much. Magical ties making her crazy, she knew her problems too well, knew she had to face them, too much. Problems were a bag of bricks tied to her feet, she didn't want to fail again, fall again. Choices gave her that place she stood long in, whether it was what she asked for, wasn't the point to tell. She felt a sense of living with her own mistakes, however easy it was to let Edward save her. What if he did save her? What if he saved her, and along the way, didn't want her anymore? She knew of such trauma all too well. She didn't want to be left with nothing all over again. She wanted a foundation only she could build. And being back in that tiny flat, next to her fake family, that welcomed her with open arms, no matter how bad it all turned out, was the only way for now.

She decided she would have to tell Edward everything if she wanted him in her life. She wanted him to know her reasons. She wanted him to see how determined she was, and how much their new friendship meant to her new beginning.

Time spent in the kitchen went by like a ticking clock, a ticking timer that would go off at any minute, just as soon as they caught up to her, and she knew they would. She knew it despite her optimism, believing they would change their minds. A ticking timer until what she wanted with Edward all went away. He wouldn't want her if she went with Mr. Victor. He wouldn't save her if he knew what she was willing to do to live.

She decided to stay in view of the other staff all that day. Moving from station to station whenever necessary. When she needed more potatoes, she asked Mike to get them for her. Mike made himself a fool for the girls he liked. Offering whatever he thought they needed. Whatever the reason, he seemed kind, and always made jokes that she liked, even when they weren't funny. After seeing the other side of Benny's face, she couldn't bring herself to mistrust Mike, she reckoned his face was simply too sweet to have more than one version.

Evening tea time came, and the dogs began to bark with laughter, the restaurant was completely alive with music.

"Benny wants to see you."

She felt the fear shoot through her like a rocket exploding in her chest. Burning angry, she felt stupid. What was she thinking, going back there?

"Isabella!"

She could slice with an instrument, or wield from below the giant that persists. Gripping handles, she thought only for seconds of her chances. It would be disastrous. It would be like living inside someone else.

She gave up quietly, throwing her peeler in the bucket of potatoes.

She liked the idea of defending herself physically but knew it was unrealistic. She didn't want to depend on Edward, but wished in moments next that he was waiting, lurking, like he pretended he wouldn't be.

"Isa, baby. I have some news for you. Come, sit, sit."

She sat down in front of Benny, his meaty body, now much more menacing than before. She had once felt the comfort of his embrace, rather than fear it. She also felt comfort in his nickname for her, and the way he doted. She had felt protected. Now all she felt was disgust, and fear.

"Mr. Victor wants to meet you tonight, dinner here and then he see. He pay you, don't worry. But honey, you can't go looking like that. You have a dress?"

She had a dress, she had only one dress. The black dress she ran away in.

"Benny, will you tell me more about Mr. Victor?" Maybe she could get away with going to dinners, maybe he would be nice, albeit lonely. Maybe he needed a girl to show off to the family, or simple company here in the restaurant, where Mike would be, where Benny's wife was, always sitting at her special table by the kitchen.

She knew bargaining when she heard it in her own mind. She didn't know an escape, not this time.

"And how much, I mean the pay, you said I'd be paid for this?" Treasure for trips, a map home. Only this, only freedom to dig her way out of the mess she had made by running in the first place.

Benny mocked her, winking an eye, laughing with glee, "That's my Isa, I knew you would come around."

The details were clearly watered down for her unwilling ears. Affection, if asked, she would show Victor a kind of nice, the kind of girl like her could offer.

But maybe he would just want dinner?

Maybe she could go to enough of them to get out.

Maybe she ought to just leave.

Maybe she would go home, and refuse. He wouldn't actually force her. Would he?

Maybe I should wake up, and see this for what it is.

Excused from the kitchen, she fled to change. Sickened with newfound grief as she hung the dress out ready to slip into. Familiar trappings, she tried to stay calm as she stood in front of the mirror, looking at the black dress she hadn't seen in months, memories of a time she no longer remembers as her own. Another life, another person. That girl and this girl, they couldn't exist as one. Empty of tears, she stood feeling numb to it all, there were too many decisions now, and too much risk whatever she chose.

She began to feel panicked. A sense of speed she couldn't keep up with. She wrapped her arms around her body, wishing she weren't alone. She saw on TV once, a woman being hugged from all sides of her body in an attempt to depress her sympathetic nervous system, to slow her heart rate and metabolic rates. Isabella didn't like to be touched during what had been dubbed "episodes", but she couldn't help but want someone there with her to offer to test it out. She was angry, more than humiliated at the state of her life. Convinced she must be self destructing, she had come to know pain well. She lay in it, woke up to it, it was easier. Somehow it was just easier. But now she she was drowning. To the tips of her fingers, swimming for life. She gripped the dresser that held her few belongings, and tried to bring it all back together, to hold her head above the water one last time.

She has the tools to beat this. Breathing exercises she remembered from when she was a kid.

It wasn't enough.

She took Edward's letter out and read it one more time.

Inside all of this I am writing you a place of no disappointments, no running, tear soaked faces. If only I could show you that it really could exist.

Could it? She held tight to his words, saying them over and over again. She took out her shoes, red shoes, and smiled. He liked her red shoes. Pretending fairy tales, meeting Edward instead of Mr. Victor. Answering to herself, instead of Benny.

If only I could show you that it really could exist.

Her nightmare was waiting.

She had imagined someone like her boss but this man, barely thirty, and a full head of hair; under different circumstances she might have found handsome. He wore a maroon suit, and a gold ring on his middle finger. He drank liquor, and smelled like grandad's cologne.

"Isabella, you're even prettier than I remember."

"Hello Mr. Victor."

"Call me Victor."

There was so much food, more and more plates kept arriving. Glasses of white wine she didn't care for, flowing freely. Conversation was kept to a minimum, he didn't ask about her, and she was too afraid to ask about him for fear of further encouragement. She wondered about afterwards, and what he would expect. She felt sick. She felt like running. She couldn't move.

Mike came, and smiled uneasy. Mike left, but kept an eye on the new arrangement Isabella seemed to be hating.

Victor swatted him away like a fly. Too close. Too young. Too much like the girl, encouraging her to make decisions for herself.

"I'm in favour of your quiet mouth, look at me when I address you." He waited, and she did as she was told. "This could be a permanent thing between us. I have a lot to attend to. But for now I'll say goodbye."

Permanent. A permanent thing.

Tell him you don't want to. Take your leave and tell him you're not some old car to be bought and sold and used and shared. Permanent.

Victor pulled her to her feet, wobbly, she felt the alcohol behind her eyes, fluttering to stay open like wings. "I look forward to next time Isabella, Benny boy will pay you." He kissed her cheek, and breathed on her, quite purposefully she was sure. It was vomit inducing. Of which she expelled in the bathroom as Mike stood outside the door.

"I'm fine."

"Why are you with him?"

"I'm not with him."

"He was trying to get you drunk. To take advantage, I bet. Sleazy bastard."

"I was trying to get me drunk. Am I a bastard too?"

"No. You're you. A breeze of fresh air."

"I need to go home."

"Cool. Don't choke on your own yack in your sleep. I'll miss flirting with you."

"I don't flirt with you."

"Exactly."

"Mike?"

"Drink some water. See ya later." Mike left when Benny arrived. She didn't want him to leave them alone. She was lucky, he didn't say much, he gave her an envelope and told her he knew she could do it. Nothing more or less than a pat on the back or a punch to the arm. She felt guilty.

Home, where she could soak in her own misery, and wash away the horrible that was the evening. Home, where she could get lost in her books and choose love over heartache.

Edward sat at the top of the steps waiting for her. He saw that she was wearing the red shoes, and wondered why she looked so nice for work when she never dressed like that before. He smiled to himself, and felt his heart pounding against his chest as she took each step towards him. She was beautiful and sweet, and he had missed her face since this morning.

Don't look at me in this dress, not this dress.

"I waited for you, I hope that's okay. I wanted to see you."

"Of course. I'm glad."

Once inside, Edward took a seat and Isabella changed. She opened the envelope and counted the notes. Five hundred. Five hundred for dinner. Five hundred for a bus ticket. Five hundred towards a deposit on something bigger that this place. Five hundred for being something she was ashamed of. She threw it on the floor, disgusted with herself. She stood over the sink and scrubbed her hands, her arms, and her face. Staring into the mirror, she couldn't see anything except all of the mistakes. She could see Victor with his hands on her, Victor breathing on her, Victor kissing her face. Scrub harder.

"Isabella, are you okay?" His knock snapped her out of the frenzied attack on herself. She panicked, her face so red, so sore.

She opened the door to him and looked for the concern she knew would be there.

"What's this?" She hid away from him, flinching as he touched her face, ghost fingers, gently testing.

"Please don't hide."

"I can't do this. Not now. I've made such a mess."

"Are you in trouble? You can tell me."

"Why? Why are you here? No, I can't do it, I can't..."

"Do what? Isabella, stop fighting me." He couldn't wait, he could see her walls coming up, building before his eyes, he feared losing her before they had even truly begun to know one another.

He took a few steps back and motioned toward the bed. "Come and lie with me. You don't have to tell me, just don't shut down on me now."

She walked to the bed and sat against the wall, holding her arms, holding herself together so it wouldn't all spill out. He took off his jacket, he took off his shoes. She felt his warmth immediately, it was like the sun had come out, and she could finally breathe. He pulled her close, and held her to his chest. With his strong arms around her, he smelled sweet, and kind. His heartbeat, like a song, she longed to hear.

"Isabella will you talk to me?"

"About what?"

"I just want to hear your voice."

"Okay, will you do something for me too?"

"Anything."

"Will you read to me? I know the perfect passage." She wanted to hear his voice too, she wanted it to play as she fell asleep, but he just stared at her, stupid, she felt stupid.

"It doesn't matter, I..."

"No. I would love to. Do I get one question first?"

She nodded, afraid.

"Where are you from?" He smiled at her, easy does it.

She breathed in and felt her stomach sink to her feet. She could do this, for him, she could share. She opened her mouth to begin, she opened her heart and let him in, even if only for one moment.

* * *

_**This chapter kicked my ass, in more ways than one. **_

_**Hope you all had a great weekend.**_  
_**Please and thank you! ***_

_**ETA: I missed a bunch of typos. Grr. (All fixed now) Apologies, my loves.**_


	8. Chapter 8

**_The names are not mine, the rest is._**

* * *

Three easy questions, two sweet chapters, and all the easy words for her to say. He picked well, and she answered him adequately. But it didn't matter how many stories she told him, or what favourite lists she plucked her anecdotes from, he wanted something else. He wanted to know why she was frightened, why she ran, all the reasons behind her breakdown. And then there was tonight, the relief when she saw him, and how she was dressed.

She had opened up so much in these past hours, she had finally relaxed, and they were conversing like friends, getting to know one another.

"Okay, no more questions. Just tell me something."

"Like what?"

"Anything, everything."

Too quiet, thinking only of ways to leave, make me gone and push me out. Is she done, is she thinking about it? I can't tell.

"I could probably recite it back to you."

"Pardon me?"

"Your letter. I could tell you everything it says by heart, right now."

Quick hands for quick blushes, she hid her face and squirmed. She had answered his questions she knew he didn't really want the answers too, she knew he wanted deeper cuts and old bruises. She wanted to give him pieces that meant something, anything, a lot more than he already had.

He laughed, not at her confession but at her playful side. She was cute, sweet like candy, and he ate it up, smiles for blossoms, blossoming hearts.

He had never seen her look anything but broken.

"Isabella, don't ever hide from me." Easy tone, rocking gently at sea. Still, he meant it.

"I'm embarrassed." She peeked between her fingers, "They are such lovely words that in some way, not small, bigger than you could ever know, held me together somehow. But you weren't here, not really. And so I made you real. Real to me, inside my head. So I made you real in here..." She held her hand over heart, "And that's comforting. You comfort me in ways I don't even understand, simply by existing."

He was a boy, she was a girl. And he was looking at her for the first time.

"I've said too much."

"No!"

His fingers touched her lips, shushing her, gentle. At first she was shocked, but he lingered, lasting, and she couldn't not enjoy it and just as she began to, he pulled away, "I'm sorry. You didn't. You couldn't possibly say too much. Isabella, to tell you I thought of you every day, I think you know. My letter, visiting you without you knowing. I was out of my mind with... You compelled me. I only had those first images of you, pictures on a loop, just like my words for you in return. I took it and ran with it, circles and squares inside my head... I hoped. Only hoped you thought of me too."

Her mouth, open wide. Breathing in what was left. She bathed in his words, and the way he was looking at her. She didn't know how to use her own words now. Or where to put them in return.

Massive leaps of faith in him, her bed and her heart. If only for this night. He may want to leave, and she may have no choice.

Exhausted, and unsteady, she was left drained by Benny, and by Victor. By herself, and Edward.

She lay back on the bed, and for the first time that night since she let him in, they weren't connected by touch somehow. She had lain against him for a while, through his reading, through his questions, slowly moving with each other, until they were side by side facing one another, knees almost touching.

Her embarrassment, her open heart were not the force that was pushing him away, she began to want to touch him and be touched by him. All the deep ways she had thought about before meeting him. A few seconds more, she would have tasted him. A rejection she cannot face today.

_Don't let her push you away._

His feet touched the ground heavy, leaving the bed cold beside her. A draft between her two worlds, existing. She didn't want to rely on a solace, if he wasn't really hers to have, she wanted to garner strength for her own legs to stand.

As tight as they go, she held on, squeezing her eyes together, to stop the flow.

Pages she wanted to hear, the comfort he didn't know, except that if it was anything like what he felt when he took to paper, he would give it. He would give it to her whenever she asked. And she did.

"Four miles he walked to meet his lady each day. Four miles to say hello, four miles to see her smile. Dance a dance, stay until they meet the moon. Four miles after saying goodnight." He speaks them, she sees them, colour making pictures of a story she pretends to be in, instead of that day that was her life.

Edward continued to speak the book she picked out for him to read to her, looking from the page to her face, and back again. He felt an advantage, daring to move his eyes to other parts of her. A shoulder exposed, in delicate light, new desire, take over. The rise and fall of her chest as he read aloud. A sigh, a breath held in anticipation. Isabella gripped the bedding with one hand, her lips moving without sound.

He stopped reading, certain she hadn't even noticed. Her eyes were still closed. He watched her intimate moment, intruding.

_Whisper your words to me._

He reached out to touch her, her hair, so soft, wanting to show her how affected he was.

_Don't frighten her._

She stopped at his hands but not to open her eyes. He stilled for a moment, thinking she would protest. She made no sound, no move to stop him.

He felt nice, like winter.

"Was it another world I was seeing when I saw you, running? I could tell you I didn't feel like I wanted to run with you, to wherever you might lead. Or if at all, you let me lead. Even if it's a fairytale not come true, I write my insides for you no less. Because I will never forget your face that day, or any day after." His words were always piercing, straight to the heart with arrows. She whispered them softly back to him, repeating more of what was written in his letter, now out in the open, breathing free, sat between them, echoing on the skin of his flushed face and her raised flesh.

**_Because I will never forget your face._**

Dancing fingers across her cheek, her lips had parted. Slowly, slowly he felt the heat there, so alive to his touch. Afraid to open her eyes, she waited for what was next, his body on the bed, climbing back to her, the light behind her eyes she cannot see, no longer, he's there, he's really there, so close she can smell his lust.

He's tempting her, pushing for what he wants now. He waited for her to push back.

So close she feels him, almost tasting his mouth.

_Kiss me, kiss me_.

"Because I will never forget your face." He plead with her, no words, to have her whole just this once.

_Take me, don't break me. I won't survive another._

One tear, lips tremble. He caught her with the back of his finger. Eyes open, glassy lust, he forgot to ask, no longer waiting, and wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her with him, lying back against the bed with her in the nook.

He was home.

* * *

**_Please and thank you! *_**


	9. Chapter 9

_**The names are not mine, the rest is. **_

* * *

Awake in his arms, she tried to hold the feeling still, but each moment she thought she felt the right amount of happy, the feelings shifted, moving back and forth between having and not having him there with her. She felt guilty for embracing him, shovel in hand, she continued to dig herself deeper into that hole of despair.

Close your eyes, sleep another day with him, spend another night with him. She was wanted. And not alone.

The happy kept on going, never really staying in one place.

The grief whispered lonely, lonely, in her ear.

Edward was asleep, wrapped in her completely. She tried to close her eyes, and just be. She tried.

Day light now, misty winter, cold now. He woke to her sleeping face. No nightmares like before, or pain to see. Not like the last time he saw her lying in bed. She was lying his bed, and he wanted that again. He wanted it to be different next time. He couldn't quite believe his fortune, such a being pressed against him, she was amazing. She was soft beauty, and stubborn.

She stirred and he adjusted himself, all too aware of how awake he really was.

"Isabella." Soft mewls, a sound he could keep. "You slept well."

She nodded, pleased, and stretched out her legs, body tense against him. Hard lines, they were between them. Not touching things what long to be touched.

"I have work today." She sounded defeated.

"How long have you worked there?"

"Not long. Hmm, since that day in the bank actually. It was my only choice really, at such short notice. Besides, I have no experience for anything else."

"You always have choices. Not always good ones, but there's always a choice." Edward's words cut deep, once inside, the echo was deafening. She felt hopeless.

"Don't go in."

"What?"

"Today. Stay here, don't go in. We can do anything you like. You can take a day off, can't you?" He knew she probably couldn't but couldn't stop himself from trying anyway.

"I wish I could but, aside from not being able to afford too... Benny would only be mad. They have helped me so much. I wouldn't want to get on his bad side. Not for anything. He owns this place, you know. It's all I have."

He felt sad for her. She didn't want that.

He thought about his own life and how he moved about his home in silence, alone just the same. He was no better off than she, except maybe not as broken.

His was lonely in the most basic of terms, missing what once was, but not longing for it to come back. He was trying something new, attempting to move on, to learn how to exist at the same time as other people. At the same time as Isabella.

"I have to get ready." She didn't. She had a while. But she didn't know how to deal with the middle she was in. She pulled away from him, and they both climbed out of bed.

Open door, she felt the cold before he had even left.

"This was nice. Last night, this morning. It was very nice. I'm glad you stayed."

Hand in hand, he lifted hers to his lips, "Thank you, Isabella." He closed his eyes as he kissed the back of her hand. "Soon?"

She knew what he meant. He would be there, waiting. "Soon."

Edward drove home and thought of all the ways he could keep her open. Only moving forward.

During the day, he sat writing, realising that more and more, it wasn't enough.

No mother, a great father; friend and mentor. Carlisle was a man who somehow knew everything. He was wise and taught Edward well. He gave Edward charge of the house after he went away, and in turn left him with a sadness, never filling.

The years had grown somewhat easier for Edward, though years alone still seemed like much longer than years filled with people and memories, pictures and faces.

No brothers, an older sister. She was gone too.

Edward had never made strong connections with his peers, always deemed too smart, too alone, not smart enough, too rich, stuck up, not cool enough.

He knew fractured, splintered in ways he never thought would heal. He had been, in many ways, and in some ways, still was. But he was learning to live again, learning to step outside of the stories, and into real life. After all that time, he knew what he had been missing, he knew what he wanted. He wanted her. The sad girl with broken heels, and pretty eyes. He could hear a louder life, a fuller memory to look back on instead of empty rooms and silence.

Hurrying to the library as if the books might disappear, his eyes were quick to see. He rushed in, and pulled a book from the shelf he knew would still be exactly where he left it. He hadn't needed it in a long time.

_I'll give this to her, she'll know I'm true, and she'll show me all the ways I've been asking. _

A meeting in the city had him leaving the house once again. He wrapped the book thinking he might drop it into her at work, a late dinner perhaps, or just to give it to her when she arrived home at the end of the night. He couldn't wait to see her face upon opening it.

Isabella wore her hair tied back like always when she was at work in the kitchen. She was helping cook, Mike knew she wasn't so good, and that he would have to oversee everything, but he wanted to see her smile.

"Hey, you see Benny this morning? He did not look happy. I'd stay up here if I were you, no need for you to get in his way."

"No, I wasn't in. What did he, I mean, did he say why?"

"No, I'm sure it's money though, or one of the dogs, you know how they are. Woof woof!"

"Yeah..." She laughed with Mike as he continued to howl, even though she didn't feel like it.

She knew today, or tonight, she would be asked to go with Victor again. She was being forced to work for... with... on. She didn't know, she didn't want to know what he would want.

_Stay up here, he won't mention it in front of Mike. _

Benny's wife appeared in the doorway and smiled bright, Isabella beaming, laughing with one of the chefs.

"You seen Isabella, my babies, because I know my Isabella doesn't come to work and not say hello to her aunty."

Everyone called her that. Though, she had no family of her own.

"I didn't know you were here!" She skipped over to her, and their arms were tight, she held on as if nothing had changed. As if the man this woman loved wasn't trying to force her to do awful things. As if aunty would take care of her, smooth her hair and rub her arms. Small gestures, for big hearts.

"It's been too long, come eat with me."

She pulled her out onto the restaurant floor and they sat where she always sat, having told Mike how to prepare the Pesto. Of course Mike knew how, but always allowed her to tell him something new.

She had taken to Isabella early on, hoping for her to be a part of the family. She had always wanted children but Benny couldn't have them, so every couple of years, she grew close with someone new only to have them leave again. Benny always drove them away, made sure they never stayed. Aunty cried and hoped that would change one day.

Aunty talked, Isabella mostly listened. They ate good food, and the day wore on, regulars arrived, the place got loud, and money changed hands. Aunty pretended not to know about it, continuing to talk while Isabella listened.

The night had come early, Benny barely seemed to notice her. Or at least, he pretended not to. Isabella, tucked in a wing for protection, saw Victor propped against the bar, watching her. She felt small, too many places to hide, too many places to be found again.

_Bigger, feel me bigger, fight my way out, that's all I want. _

The moment he moved, she wanted to run. His glass made beats on the table, and it shook. So did Isabella.

"Victor! How are you? Where's my husband, I know he's around. Have you met Isabella?"

_Say no. Say no. Walk away. Leave me alone._

"Didn't she tell you, aunty? She and I are more than friends already. Isn't that right, Isa?"

She was furious. He had used her nickname to lie to the only person innocent in all of this.

"I... No! I mean, no. Aunty, we just had dinner."

"And we will have more. Isabella, come to me."

He tapped the table with force, shaking liquid, eyes on them, aunty no longer pleased. She knew Victor, for all her pretend, she knew Victor well.

Isabella stood to her feet and Victor pulled her close by the waist.

"I've been thinking about you." His words weren't whispers, he was singing loud for all to hear.

She tried not to tremble, not to break. She was supposed to like it, for their eyes. Benny was watching her. They were all watching her.

"And this won't do, I told you what I like." He pulled her ponytail, rough and fast. He ripped the hair tie from her hair and threw it on the table, "See, much better."

His face was in her hair, breathing down her neck. He ran his nose up to her ear, smelling her with great theatrics.

"I can't wait." He exclaimed, and released her, then walked away.

So very still, she wished for words where actions failed. Did that not look wrong to their eyes, didn't they care?

_Aunty?_

"You should get home now, baby. You know how I am when I get carried away." She wouldn't meet her in the face and Isabella knew it was because she knew, she knew she wasn't with Victor, she must have known what was really going on.

_Why won't you look at me?_

Fake embraces, no motherly kiss goodbye, aunty left through the kitchen to Benny's office.

Breathe the air, she needed.

Help me stand, she pleaded.

She was heartbroken.

_Table gone, legs ready, hurry, hurry. Anywhere, I could go anywhere. Faster, there's no way out, make me faster. Deep breaths to help me fly, head up. Hold my head up._

And then she saw him, his eyes darker than she had ever seen. He didn't look like himself, not the man she had learnt in past days, he looked like someone else, betrayed.

He didn't speak, no smile, no hello, how are you, lovely.

"Edward, what's wrong? Why are you here?"

"I came to see you, I have something for you. Isabella, who was that?"

"Nobody, come on let's go."

He followed, and they stood on the street, no moves to leave, no keys to upstairs. He just stood, holding his red clothed package.

"Who was that, why was he, are you okay? Tell me you're okay!" He was furious, and hard now.

"Please, let's just go upstairs!" She pulled at his coat, the front of his clothes, but he wouldn't move for her. "I can't tell you." Whispers. Whispery whispers. Please don't make me tell you. "Edward, come on!"

"We're leaving." Strong hands, she knew weren't going to hurt her, pushed at her, guided her to his car. Her legs moved that time, faster than before.

No voices spoke, no voices heard. The drive was quick, too quick, shaky nerves, she thought she might vomit. Seeing his house, sleeping awake, waiting for their lives to live in it, she thought about how far they seemed to have come. How close they were on the inside. She wanted it all. But didn't know where to begin.

Help me begin, to finally do it right. I can't do this alone anymore.

Holding her hand, he walked them into the house and closed the front door behind them. Safe.

He wasn't angry anymore, not angry with her at least.

"Will you tell me?" He stood in front of her, and handed her the book, covered in red.

But she couldn't take anything from him now, not now. "What is it? I can't take it, Edward, no!"

"It's a gift. For you. Don't worry, I didn't spend any money."

She unwrapped the cloth around and around, faster her fingers, faster her eyes. She made it to a book.

"My father wrote it. He wrote it for me at a time when he knew he would be gone soon. And now he is, and all I have is that, and I want you to have it."

Her mouth fell open, the tips of her fingers feeling the book and it's details.

"I can't. He's not here? No, I can't take this from you." She held it out for him, "Where is he, where did he go?"

"You can take it, and you will. Please. And I'll tell you. I'll tell you and you'll tell me. Isabella, do you want this," he pulled her hand free from the book and placed her palm on his chest. He held it, as they both held the book, and she closed her eyes. "Do you want this?"

"I do, but..."

"No. No buts. I want this, I mean it. Tell me you'll let me in, tell me everything."

The inside of him, his heart and all that he wanted to give were living, living underneath her hand, she could feel it all, and she wanted it.

With relief, she breathed heavy, overcome, "Yes. I want this. I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything."

* * *

**_Thank you to my bestest Stephy, _****_and thank you for reading and always taking the time!_****_ * _**


	10. Chapter 10

**_The names are not mine, the rest is. _**

* * *

She couldn't imagine putting her feet up, barefoot, wrapped in a blanket. Not in that room. It was a grand old detail in an even larger castle of a house. She wondered what sort of man ended up in that sort of home alone.

_Take a piece of me, just break it off clean and he'll give me one in return. _

She knew she could only fly blind for so far. After that night in bed with him, life attracting life, she knew she wanted to feel him everywhere. Her systems wouldn't allow for lies when passing a line of no return.

Edward sat patiently, the space for her to breathe. She agreed to his deal, and he hung onto that, waiting.

He picture walked their lives through the rooms empty, what if her confessions were ones he couldn't forget?

Isabella the same, imagining herself on show before speaking it true. If it doesn't feel right then it's not right, don't break it by bending it a way it's not supposed to go.

She leaned forward and slipped off her shoes, testing her earlier thoughts.

_Fold my warmth inside of yours, before you say goodbye to me. _

He watched her, he watched her each time, still now, and felt as if that would be their life. Him watching, unable to not. He had to know, and he had to have her.

She turned her body into a shield before his eyes, bending herself into something protective. Protecting the outside to protect the inside.

"My savings ran out."

A deep breath, he concealed well, he was ready to know, to tell her just as well. He turned to face her, open.

"The money was from my mom, I was still paying... I had obligations. I thought I was careful, you know. But it ran out. My account was just empty. So I needed to work. I had been burying myself in another person's life, over and over, day after day, living inside my books, underneath my blankets and cushions... I found my place and aunty, um, my boss's wife, I could see it in her eyes. She really liked me. At first I think I took advantage of that. I mean, they let me live there for cheaper than they would have, helped me out when I needed. She wanted more, a real life family with Christmases and Birthdays, but Benny, he's... they're somebody, Edward. Important, I guess. The whole place is intimidating and up until recently I felt protected by that. I really did. Even though I didn't know much about it. But my bond with aunty is something else now. She was my only real life comfort, my only real tie above the surface."

As if she had been running, it all came rushing out, heavy breaths, she laid her head back, sunk into the comfort of the plush, and in turn her body edged closer toward Edward. Connected by the tips of her toes, she sought him out.

"You have to understand the kind of people they are. They get what they want. And you have to remember I came here with almost nothing. Not knowing what I would become."

"I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you want this to be Isabella, I'm in. That's something you have to remember."

Was it so easy, to tell him, so easy for him to accept whatever life she had come from, whatever life she had now? He felt strong, willing it to all be that easy.

"That man you saw, he... Well, I'm supposed to... I'm not damaged, I promise. I'm not damaged!"

He couldn't believe what she was telling him.

Finger tips made for light circles, he traced the skin at the top of her foot, lightly tapping now and then for her to continue. He was okay, he said. I'm here, he said. Keep going, he needed her to.

Isabella rubbed her chest, held her sides together for something that never worked. She felt suffocated in her own life, the anxiety much too much.

"I don't know where to even, it's complicated. A part of me feels like nothing even happened and the other part is terrified of what _will_ happen, not just because of Victor or Benny or my home that is far from it. But it is the only thing I have. I have to hold on to it, don't I?" Words kept coming, running water, like the current, too strong to hold on, she held herself tighter. "And you, what if you... This is too much. I'm a mess, Edward."

"I think I can decide that for myself." Eye to eyes, he held on strong. "Did he hurt you?"

"Not yet." A truth she fought with, stupid for thinking it could be any different.

Her words were a battle inside an even bigger one.

"I had never seen Benny like that before, I had heard, you know, but not with me, or with the other girls, I didn't know and he said things could change, would change for me if I didn't do it for him. He was so rough. My finger was bleeding a bloody mess, from my stupid clumsy... I thought I would pass out from his pulling, his pushing."

"That night I brought you here?"

With timid head nods and avoiding eyes, she felt herself get more and more worked up. "You're so fast," she shook her hand between them, "this is so fast that it might not be what I think it is. The pressure is too much."

Her pieces fell too quickly, no longer making sense. He spoke the words for her to feel, "I can't begin to even explain what I think I know about what we are, what I want or what we could be, if we just try. But the thought of someone hurting you, of you hurting, hurts me. I'm hurt. I'm angry. I would tell you to distract me from it but Isabella, I need to know. I don't think I have any more flight in me to leave once I do, so be free for me. Can you?"

"Then can you tell me about this book?"

Shifting lives and making space, she needed a minute to keep it together. She wanted to shout and scream and come apart. Just be done of it all. A story to tell, one beginning, one middle, one end. Wishing for a sense of life she once believed in, before the black dress, before the day she changed her life from going there and making her way here.

"Every single word and action, I can't stop thinking it and thinking it, I wish I wasn't so afraid. The fear is crippling me." The things she said spilled out uneven.

Edward could see she was having to convince herself over and over, talking herself into it and out of it, moment by moment. He felt a desperate need to end his loneliness with Isabella, end her constant pain with him. Isabella's mind, Isabella's heart he wanted to know, to feel, Isabella's face, he saw over and over.

"The day I woke up and realised nobody was coming back was the same day I found this book. Of course it was supposed to be that way because he made it that way. At the time it all felt so big, too big to be something that a man did. I was trapped in this house, in my memories of him. You know, I have a sister. I had a sister. I've felt the sinking feeling I know you're feeling now, the pressure on your entire body that if you let it out, if you think about it for too long, let alone talk about it, you'll break."

She begged him to continue. No words, just silence.

"I wanted to show you that you can only feel the way _you_ feel, the consequences of other peoples actions falling all around you are only that. And that even though we don't have the ties we once had, you eventually find a way to adapt. I did. My father's words, the lives you want to live from inside your books. I wanted you to see the lives inside of this one. When I see you, when you're near, you've become something so great, I can't look away, I don't want to go away. So Isabella, you can speak it all to me. And this book, might speak it all _for_ me, _from_ me, to you."

She moved even closer to him, her whole body, a line they both wanted to cross. She reached for his face, palming his cheek, his stubble beneath her fingers felt lovely. His eyes followed her eyes as she followed the path of his whole face.

His eyes, seeing her the way she wanted to be seen, real. His lips, teasing her, telling her things she could lie in lingering for a lifetime.

He wanted to kiss her, for her to kiss him first.

She watched him watching her and slowly started to fade, it was now or never.

"That man is paying me. He wants me for things. Things I don't even know about, Benny never specifically said he would want sex but there are all these demands and dinner dates. I tried to say no. It's not even about the money now, I still have it, I don't want it. I just don't want it!"

Tears fell free, sobbing, her voice screamed pain and anger and a desperate need to not be made to do the awful things she knew he was thinking now.

Edward didn't speak, he knew it was bad, very bad, and even though she hadn't been forced physically to do the things his mind had wandered to, he could feel it, escalating inside, a fight to stay and make her understand she had a choice, and a fight to go, to go and make it right for her. Stop them and show them she is not theirs, she cannot be theirs if he ever has a hope of making her his. Her choice, her will.

_If she'll have me. _

He held her by the shoulders, she could see the working behind his eyes. She'd done it now. Made it all a mess for him to clean, she didn't want it that way. No mess for making something good. Be clean, a man won't want her that way.

_Wipe away your tears and kiss you. Just do it. _

He didn't.

His fleeing was almost something she missed, he took his path so quickly. Isabella got up, no shoes, and ran after him.

"What are you doing?"

No coat, just keys.

"Edward please, talk to me, I know it's a lot. Where are you going?"

Faced with the door to a trouble he didn't know but thinks he could change for her with his words, perhaps money. If that's what it took. A stop to breathe, he leaned one arm against the wood.

She motioned to touch him, reached out to hold him, she wanted to feel it. For her, because of her.

One palm against his back, she felt his shoulders, lines and definition she wanted to see.

He was surprised by her comfort, her will to stop him. What is it, he didn't know. He wanted to ask, to get some clarity in a world where dirty plays, and dirty does.

Face to face, he turned to her, new eyes, dead alive, and even though they were puffy from tears, they were so beautiful.

"Nobody has the right to do this. You don't see your worth, I can, and I can see him, the way he touched you, I feel sick with it." His voice was angry, disgusted.

"Please don't go. Not now, just stay, here with me."

"They have to know this is unacceptable. Whatever it takes. You are not someone's to own. You're just, Isabella, you don't see it but it's intrinsic. You're made as lovely as they come. I want you to want more for yourself. Why don't you want more?"

"I do. It happened so fast, it's my home, or at least... I can't go back to where I was before. I don't want to go back, I won't."

"Why, to where? Why was it so bad?"

"I can't. Edward, I feel out of my depth with you. I don't know what you want or if there are rules, all I know is you're in here now, you're inside my head, I don't want to think about you not wanting me."

"I promise, that will never happen. But I have to stop this, I won't see you hurt."

His body was beginning to leave, she could feel his anger, and his crazed notions of trying to fix it. She wanted him to have no part of it, she knew Benny played now, and just remembering him breathing on her, pulling her hair, she was so breakable to him.

With a strength he had found, he walked away from her. With a fight she needed to learn to use she ran after him. Night fall and a wind just as strong, she could barely see him, wild hair blowing across her face.

"Edward!"

He didn't falter.

"You don't have the flight you said, to leave me. Except you have it do things you shouldn't do, things that might hurt both of us. Don't go. I don't want you to go!"

In his ears between the feral sounds of the night, her voice was solid, no shakes for tears or broken sentences.

He turned back to her and took small steps, his mind was shouting to get in the car but he couldn't ignore her.

"It's inside me to protect you now, and it's winning, and you're saying stay and if I do I don't know what will happen. Isabella, you infuriate me. I want you. I've wanted you since the first day I saw you. Not only to see your face change from what I saw that day but you, standing in your towel, crying on your doorstep, holding you in your bed. I want you. I have to put the fight somewhere to make this what I want it to be."

"Give it to me. Put it in me."

Her body, drawn to his, she kept walking.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I thought about you, and not just because of your words, I made you hard and I wanted things."

"What things?"

"Hands, mouths, wrapped up and more. Take me Edward."

"Don't do this just so I won't go."

"It's not, I'm not. Don't you see, fight or flight. I have to put it somewhere too."

Isabella held out her hand to him, closing the gap between them. Take it, she willed him to take it because if he didn't and he left, all the fight left inside of her would be gone. And the wind could swallow her whole because this was it. Take me.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, never taking his eyes off hers, in the night they looked black. A world full of possibility he couldn't ignore.

Her skin was cold, he was gentle, she felt like she couldn't move. He took her wrist and now she couldn't move. Edward held her hand to his chest, she moved without knowing how because this was it. His arms fell to where they always wanted to be, around her waist, he took her hips and pulled her closer, nerves and shaky feet, quick breaths she tried to catch. She was looking at him, looking at her, making sure she wasn't going to disappear, that it wasn't too much for her. His head to the side, his eyes were on fire and she wanted to tell him.

"I could just forget it all, looking at you, like this, it's just you. It's just you, Edward."

A fistful of his shirt, she pulled him down to her, her eyes to his lips, face to face, she let him lead. She closed them tight, and felt the air from only him now, mouth to mouth, breathing right, his lips were light, soft, and cold. They were Edward. Her grip grew stronger, his lips firmer, pressing both to hers, she kissed him back.

All she knew, all she felt was him, finally kissing her. Open mouths asking for more, taste me, she wanted it all, tighter, faster, needy, and kind, they tasted each other and she felt his hands holding her. He didn't move them, he didn't ask for more.

Don't end it, don't stop. Her hands held his face as the kisses felt like life. A moment he could live in, her hands on his face, she trembled, she was amazing.

Air they needed as his lips left hers, allowing for her to breathe. He didn't leave, his head pressed to hers, she dropped her hands to his shoulders. They breathed into each other knowing it was all different now.

It was something much bigger, something they could never change, couldn't ever give up.

He vowed to protect her, with his heart, with his life, he would make them stop.

* * *

**_Steph makes it all better. _**

**_Thank you, you're lovely! *_**


	11. Chapter 11

**_The names are not mine, the rest is._**

* * *

She was high, the taste of his mouth still on her lips, the feel of his arms wrapped around her completely.

Edward led her up the stairs, each one, another step of silent smiles, and excitement.

The room felt smaller, proximity lies. His clothes felt like comfort, his eyes watching her, like a dream.

Neither one knew what was next, desire roaming free.

Isabella looking back at herself, mirror images telling stories old. She stood tall now, tonight, with Edward in her heart. Edward at her side.

He had yet to confess his reasons to her, his secrets telling truths.

She wondered for a minute who he was. She thought about the book.

"I can sleep in the other room if you'd prefer?"

"You don't want to?" She gestured toward the bed, quickly realising what it might seem like she was implying. "I just mean, before, we... did I do something wrong?"

She hated herself for being insecure in that moment. But she couldn't hide her real feelings. She didn't want to push him away anymore. She wanted them to be open, honest, and clear with one another.

He climbed the bed to be with her, kneeling in front of her, sinking unsteady into the sheets.

He held her fingers, tips like entryways. Testing what was okay, teasing what was yet to come.

"I told you I wouldn't leave. I'm sorry, Isabella, I'm just so angry." He let go of her and rubbed his face with both hands, defeated, he felt as though he was losing.

"I know you weren't running from me, I know that."

"You didn't do anything wrong, I just want you to be comfortable here. There are no expectations, do you understand?" Losing patience with himself, he left the bed, and headed for the door. "I'm going to get some water, do you want anything?"

"Water's fine."

Edward didn't want her to see his bound attempts at trying to right that wrong for her, he needed to put the energy somewhere new, for now.

He poured himself a shot, the bottom of the glass, magnified. Like the girl herself, intense. He stood in the kitchen smoking, fixated. She needed a kind of normal, even being together was fraught, fraught with enquiring minds and wants they each didn't know how to go about getting.

A large wooden chest sat at the end of the high bed she was to share with him tonight. Isabella sat on it, holding a secret book, with precious words, she fingered the edges, opening it to read the inscription, cursive written in black ink.

_**Edward, **_

_**All of what you are, of what you can be, I helped to make. All of what I am and once was, it was all down to you. **_

_**You and Rosalie are my only hope. **_

_**We'll be seeing you again someday, follow your eyes and your desires free. **_

_**I know you'll be safe. Strong, you always were. My son, my friend, we'll miss you. **_

_**Love always, **_

_**Dad. **_

The book had no title, the cover, red with nothing but a name in small gold letters.

**_Carlisle Cullen. _**

She sat there, half an hour passing, wondering where he went. She didn't feel right turning the first page now, with him so far away. She had seen it in his eyes, on his face when he spoke of his family. He had a sister, and he knew his father wasn't coming back. But they weren't dead? Just gone.

She was entirely confused. Where are they and why did they leave? She ought not to think of lives she cannot do, but what it all meant to Edward now, she wondered.

She lay on the bed on top of the covers, waiting.

He sat on the back porch, a love seat made for two, alone. He let his legs move him, the bench making it swing, but only a fraction.

He knew he shouldn't leave her up there alone, yet couldn't bring himself to go back yet, back to Isabella, waiting. Waiting for him to help her, or waiting for him to hold her, a kiss, a touch. He was mad, felt mad from trying told himself back from chasing away demons. He could leave now, and she wouldn't be there to stop him.

But she wouldn't forgive him. And he knew that.

He breathed a heavy sigh into the open space, just him. Just him. His dad wasn't in the library organising something or other, and Rose wasn't sitting by the fire, or next to him on the swing, trying to make it go faster. They were just gone.

He thought about his sister and what she had gone through, why they weren't there anymore and then thought about Isabella. They would have liked each other. Strong without knowing it, broken but holding on.

Shaking himself of the lives he had learned to live without, thought he had learned to live without, he went back inside, back to her, waiting for him.

Sleeping wonder, sexy as ever, even in his ugly clothes, he stifled a laugh not to wake her.

Taking the covers from his side of the bed, he pulled them over her and lay down, promising that tomorrow would be different. There would be no evil, no worries of the future. There would be no revelations needed, wonders of the past. Just now. Just this.

Isabella woke to a sleeping Edward. Wrapped in the blanket, she crawled out and pulled it over him, cozying up to him, hugging the side of his body.

A smile she couldn't keep, across her face, up to her eyes, a small content sound fell from her. This boy, this man he was. So beautiful and kind.

He was always so gentle with her, though a fierce side she did see. An anger he showed, she found she liked, unafraid, she knew she was safe. When he struggled with himself, she found it sexy. She wanted him to express himself instead of walking away. She wanted to see him ferocious, to see him sweat. She wished he was awake now, she wished to touch him, be held by him. She wished to be bare, and free. She wondered what he was like as a lover.

She found herself aroused, running wild in the silence of the night.

Out of bed, she ran the shower.

She found comfort in her own hands, making ways for parts of her she found wound, and needy. She wanted it to be his touch instead of her own, to be his desire as well as her own.

She didn't know if he would want her that way.

Shivers from the first touch, eager, easy. Slowly calling to feel it all, she felt looser now, more free. Quickly she began to grind against herself, moving faster, harder, she whimpered at the heady lust running through her naked body, lost in a feeling, lost in her immense feelings for him.

Cupping her breast, she teased almost painfully, she pleased hard, desperate for this, desperate for his warmth, for his power.

She was giving in and it felt so unbelievably good, so unbelievably different after being near him, knowing he was near still.

Biting down on her lip to quiet the lust that spilled from her play, it washed through her, over her, and along her skin as she rode it out, eyes closed, release, relief. Amazing, like never before.

Limp body, wet from the heat of the spray, she relaxed, feeling as though she could sleep easy again.

Sliding open the glass door, Isabella leaned over the side to grab a towel. Next to the towels was a fresh set of clothes, sweat pants and a t-shirt, a set of clothes for her that she didn't bring. A set of clothes for her to wear, he wanted her to have. Edward. He was awake.

* * *

**_Thanks to Steph, she's my person. _**

**_And thank _****_you_****_ for reading! * _**


	12. Chapter 12

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**_

* * *

The girl was mortified. Stuck between a dream and reality, unbelieving of that moment, the one where she knew without a doubt that he had seen, or heard. Definitely heard.

Isabella was embarrassed. Naked and embarrassed.

Edward sat on the edge of the bed. He had been unsure of entering, torn between wanting her to be comfortable, afraid of making her even more so uncomfortable. Popping his head around the door, he meant to drop the clothes and leave. The room swathed in smokey steam. He felt desire, one so strong, he broke boundaries, entering completely, he stood listening to the spray of the water, imagining a time when they might shower together. The boy was unprepared for the sounds of lust filling the sweaty space between them. A glass door, a confession or two, questions answered and time, standing between them.

His name from her lips. Unlike pain. Unlike strangers. Like perfect.

He sat thinking still, on the edge of the bed they both slept in. Where she had moved to him during the night. Where he had dreamed of her, fantasising the two of them to life.

Isabella, treading bare foot into the bedroom, her eyes on Edward.

"I hope it's okay I took a shower. Did I wake you?" Standing awkward, playing with the ends of his shirt, the shirt she's now wearing.

He stood to be nearer, and shook his head telling her no. They both knew he had been in the bathroom. They booth knew he knew. And that she knew he knew it. "I know they're too long on you but I need you to be warm. I want to show you something outside today."

She wondered how much he heard, and if he found pleasure in what he saw. She wondered if he saw, and felt repulsed. She breathed to keep from freaking out.

He wondered about his name, and what she thought of as she said it. He wondered if he asked her, she would tell him, of if she would do the same again tomorrow.

"We should eat before we leave."

He made his way downstairs leaving her standing there. He couldn't think straight with the memory of her morning delight.

She ate at the table, he ate on the move, packing things into a bag.

"I have to make a few phone calls before we go, are you alright here?"

She nodded and he headed to the library.

She finished up, leaving her bowl without clearing up to wander through the house. The living room, where she told him about Victor. The room where she cried. Where they talked, where they met each other with secrets unfolding. She approached the library to hear his voice, quiet, too low to make out words.

Other rooms she hadn't been in, a dining room with a large table, rich in colour, it felt like Christmas even though it was empty. Nobody ate there. She felt sad. She moved on quickly.

Velvet floor length curtains held the darkness in where light attempted. She walked over to them and pushed them open heavy. The wall behind them was glass, window to window, wall to wall. She pulled the door open, the cold hit her immediately, cooling her cheeks, blowing her wet hair. She pulled it to the side and weaved a lose braid, she fastened it done with a tie from around her wrist.

The air wrapped around her, swimming across her face, and tickled the back of her neck. Feet out, unthinking, she stepped onto the ground, there were puddles, big and small. Still, she kept walking. The sight before her was magnificent. No opulence living could prepare for the sublime before her. So full of space, not empty like the house. Dark greens reminded her of his eyes, pink and white, red and purple. A yellow she could barely see through the mix of colours here, an opening there. A path, leading through the trees, she longed to roam.

"You know, you should really put some shoes on, you'll get sick." She turned to see his smiling face, holding her pumps in the air.

"It's so..."

"Unnecessary."

"Pardon me?"

"All of this space is very unnecessary."

"It's... wow. Just... wow. You could get lost up there." Turning back to face the, garden?

"Here." His hand on her elbow startled her but the way it felt did not. His touch was, important, she knew that even after seven lifetimes, she would never forget it.

Edward bent before her, and took her ankle to his knee. "Lean on my shoulders."

Placing one hand on his shoulder, she realised how much she wanted to truly feel him, instead she held a fistful of his shirt, fighting herself. He pushed her foot forward, towards him, drying it on his jeans. Subtle movements, scraping on the inside of her bare foot, her grip got tighter.

He could feel it, her fight. She was thinking of him, and he believed it. He looked to her face to find her eyes closed. He slipped her foot into the pump and placed it on the floor.

Lifting her other foot, he rolled up the end of the leg of the two-long pants, and ghosted over the back of her leg down to her heel, he wasn't thinking, not really, not until she fell forward, both hands on his shoulders, holding on for something more. Or something less.

Quickly putting her other pump on, he placed her foot on the floor next to the other.

"There, we're set. Wait here."

She didn't speak, she just stood. Tingling, tickled and so far in lust for this gentle, sweet man.

He came back with a bag on his back, the same he had been packing earlier.

He handed her a jacket to wear and she pulled it around her, too big, built for Edward, warming Isabella, she drank it in, his scent, how it smelled, much like she drank in the vision of him walking away, up the path.

"Come on!" He called to her, excited to show her his place, his world.

She caught up to him and they made it to the end of the path, it was all so close, so humbling, so rich. A charming sense of amazing. She could hide in there and she knew it, planned it out even. Away from the nightmares, away from what she had been facing at home. Home. It wasn't her home anymore and she knew it.

Isabella under a tree near the opening, looking up at the sky to let her head fill with all that she wanted to get rid of, hoping to leave it there, gone. Just like her, gone.

He offered her his hand. She looked at it, a prize surrounded by treasure found underneath the shit she couldn't face.

It was full of life, a sonder, in which she was just the extra, and it was the other life, living completely unaware of her and everyone else. The petals shook as the drops from last night fell to the grass. A soft sound of music echoing from nearby, she couldn't quite make out. The birds, rocking branches, flying tree to tree.

Through the clearing she could see a small bridge, stretching over the water. She was Dorothy, and he was her Scarecrow. The sound she couldn't make out, Monet, Daguerre, stupefied. She was blown away, and overwhelmed, breathlessly blinking through to pure beauty without even trying.

"Lovely." Her face was alive, alight and animated. This is what he wanted to see.

"We could go further but it's colder than I'd like." He pulled her gently, leading her toward the bridge. Setting foot on the solid wood, she looked down, into the water, icy cold, the breeze skimming the surface.

"I know you said you like the cold but to see this in the Summer, the Autumn, the light on the water."

He placed the bag down on the floor, and sat on the edge, his feet hanging over above the rushing wet.

"Sit with me?"

Legs swinging free like a child. No cares for cares sake if you just look ahead, across the pond, the top of the grass, endless possibility. Hope. Deep breaths she took, savouring all that she could see.

Edward opened the bag and took out a blanket, he pulled it across their legs, more, he took out a flask, pouring a cup he offered to her.

"Sweet tea."

"You thought of everything." Smiling, she took it, warming her hands. "Edward, I'm sorry.

"For what?"

_For taking advantage in your bathroom while you slept._

"For involving you in all of my mess. I appreciate you wanting to help, but really I have to do this."

"How? What will you do exactly, Isabella? You said yourself what they're like and so far they've done nothing but hurt you."

"I know. But I have to fix this, or at least try. It's not fair of me to put this on you. I'm sure you didn't expect all of this back then..."

"Back when? You don't see yourself so clear. You are the most... you are more than that. I could never regret that day or anything after it. We're sitting here together aren't we?"

"You're just so, nice. You're hard to believe. I trust you, but I find myself afraid. What if I say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing? What if I'm not so nice, Edward."

He rubbed his hands across his face to clear it all away, up and through his hair, ready. She smiled at something simple that was becoming familiar.

"I feel ashamed. I feel like the place I'm in is entirely my fault, and no matter the reason, no matter what I and you, and everyone else out there might know to be true, or right. I feel a sense of disgust with myself. I have to try and take it back somehow. To allow myself the power to turn it all around again. I'm not as good as you, Edward. And I don't want that to make you go away."

"I'm here because I want to be. Daily details remember? Whatever it is, whoever you are. I can't stay away now. I don't have the, whatever, I just can't." He tried to make her see.

"I read the inscription. The book you gave me."

"Oh."

"Would you tell me? Where they are, why they left?

He couldn't. He didn't want to. Not because of her, or because he thought the same, that she might leave. But because if he thought about it, if he really thought about them. He would leave.

However long he thought it had been, or that he had learnt to cope. He was wrong. He was on the edge of something futile. And Isabella was pushing him closer and closer towards it.

He missed them. He missed Rose.

"It doesn't matter. I can't go to them. I wouldn't risk it, there's no point. They're not ever coming back."

"Why did they leave?"

"I can't, Isabella, please."

She understood all the same, she hadn't wanted to share herself, not in that way. But she did. And even though it hurt, and for moments of it, she felt worse. She felt better for it now.

_Forget the book, just tell me so I can help you!_

He fell back on the bridge. The wood was cold, dampening his shirt. He didn't care.

"They had to go, it was the only way. They had no choice." She tried to hear each word as clear as the stories behind them. "Rosalie is a strong, stubborn woman. We fought, we disagreed. But we protect each other. We _protected_ each other." She felt the alarming rise in his voice, on her skin, and in her hair. "But something broke her, something was taken from her. It was too dangerous for them so she left. I couldn't let her go alone and my father, he's, he would be better at it. Perspective. Reality. I was a fool. He's just better at it."

Isabella fell back with him, leaning on her elbow, looking at him, at his face, in his eyes, closing them, holding them tight. Trying to stop the tears for his family, broken. _Broken like me?_

"Thank you." Her voice so quiet, clean and gentle. Full of meaning, she hoped he knew.

He turned to her, taking in her face.

"You are so beautiful." He let out a breath brand new, followed by the same one he had been holding since the day in the bank.

Isabella lowered her face, watching his eyes, watching her back. Her hand to his cheek, she felt his cold skin. She placed a kiss there. Lingering warm, a piece of her she gave in return for his secrets.

She pulled away, not wanting to. Smiled at him, one of a child, and landed on her back happy.

"Can we stay here a while? Just you Edward, and me Bella."

"Bella?"

"Yeah. Bella. Something new?"

"Something new. I like it. I like you."

"I like you."

"We can stay as long as you want, Bella. Just you and me."

As long as she wants. Until tomorrow.  
As long as she wants will never be enough.

* * *

**_Apologies for my absence. I was busy running amuck in the city with my bestest, Stephy. She came to visit all the way from the states to good old blighty. It was a wonder, and I'm sad she had to go back._**

**_I hope you're all still with me, and are doing well._**

**_We are now back to our regularly scheduled viewing._**

**_Thank you. *_**


	13. Chapter 13

**The****_ names are not mine, the rest is. _**

* * *

Secret garden gone. Hidden away then, gone.

Edward gripped the edges of himself, fighting the wheels beneath him to turn around and use sense.

"Please, Isabella."

"You think I want to go back there, that I want to be anywhere near him, you think I want to see his face, you never know, maybe it will just be more dinners. Dinners I could stand if I had to. What home do I have otherwise? It's the only one I have, Edward." The words didn't match. She was dreading it. She felt the filth too soon, wash it gone, all away. The thought of what might... what could... were worse than anything that had come before.

Did she enjoy the pain?

"Come home with me." He wasn't really asking her, or even thinking about what it could all be. He just said it. He just meant it.

He made a way for the side of the road and stopped the car. "Hey, look at me. Come home with me!"

"Are you telling me or are you asking me?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course."

"Then, both."

"It can't be both." Like a child, she turned away, and back, away, and back.

A choice, only she had to make. In truth he would never try and force her to go with him. In truth he wanted to lock the doors and drive as far away as possible, never looking back. He would carry her anywhere, if she would just say so, if she would just ask. But she wouldn't. And so he waited.

But a patience in him had still run out. He couldn't force her but he could make her see. He swung the door open and hit the gravel. He flinged open her door and yanked at her belt, fighting with it, just like everything else.

"What are you doing? Edward, let go!"

Wrapped around her, he finally pulled her free, and out onto the same level as him. He wasn't hurting her, he just meant it. He wasn't angry, mostly intent. Determined to make her change her mind.

He pressed her against the car, both hands, both arms. "You frustrate me so damn much. You excite me, you're... You frustrate me! Can't you see? Of course I'm telling you, of course, I'm asking you. I'm mad with this. I don't know how else to just get you to do the things you want instead of this... Don't be a martyr, Bella. I want you to come."

"I don't know what to do, I'm so confused about everything. I'm afraid, and I just... I'm torn between what I think, and what I think I know, or want. I'm just so tired."

"There's nothing to be afraid of with me. This is turning you inside out. I can see it, stop letting it."

"As friends?"

"What?"

"Come home with you as what, Edward. As friends or something else?"

"I..."

"Because it feels like neither, and it feels like so much more." She was terrified of his answer. Her cheeks grew red, she felt like she might explode.

"I know."

"You know?"

He was thoughts, no words, crazy fast and over the top, he couldn't help himself. "This morning, I... when I..." He let go of her, one hand in his hair, he was blushing awkward. "Your clothes, I brought you those clothes." Eyes to eyes, he willed her to understand him.

"Why would you..." She could scream, run, hide, embarrassed.

_Swallow me whole. I want to cry. _

Or she could pretend. "What does that have to do with anything?" Feigning anger.

"Tell me why?"

"What?"

"Tell me what you were thinking?"

"You are so out of line." Pushing him away she started to walk, walking away from him and the car, away from him and the only future she could see.

"Bella! What are you doing?" Jogging to catch her, quick footsteps, turned to face her, walking backwards. "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to make you understand."

"Understand what? How could that possibly... Did you stand there watching, listening, get a kick out of it, and how pathetic I am?"

Her face, he couldn't stand it, she looked so hurt, furiously hurt. "Yes. No. I mean, you're not paathetic. And yes. I did. I did listen, I did stay."

She stopped fighting.

He stepped forward, trying to get her to look at him. Closer than close but not touching. "Now will you come home with me?"

She no longer felt as if her reasons were legitimaate. Walking away like that, she didn't know where she would go but her legs were willing to take her somewhere, anywhere. Looking ahead, thinking back and knowing what was waiting. And this man, this man in front of her, offering her something else. He wanted to offer her all of the things. None of it made sense.

"Yes."

"Yes? Yes!" Sighs of relief and light-heart flutters, he had been waiting. He finally reached out to her, for both to feel her flinch at his touch. Edward looked down at her eyes, she told him she didn't know why. She wanted to jump into his arms and wrap her legs around him. For him to hold her. But she flinched and she didn't know why.

"I don't know, I..."

"It's okay. Let's go." He gestured for her to walk, walking so close to her, so close, his footsteps were her shadow.

It's okay. He would always tell her it's okay, but what does that even mean? Is he saying he will be a patient man and really truly it doesn't matter. It's all just going to be fine. Or is he saying what he thinks is the right thing to say?

"Don't tell me we're fine if we're not. Do you promise?"

"I promise."

Pulling up to the house, all she could think about was the garden, two places, his bedroom and the open. The safest places she knew.

A phone call she asked of Edward, she needed to tell Benny something. Away visiting a friend, she had fallen sick. Quick and easy, no ways to go home when you're sick. Believable. She made the call and left a message on the restaurant machine.

Returning to Edward, everything felt so settled. She wanted to run up the stairs, two at a time, him chasing her, they would dive under the covers, be wrapped in comfort, and never leave.

"I want some of my things. I can't keep wearing your clothes."

"I'll go. Tell me what you need and I'll do it tonight."

"No, I should go, you won't know what to get. It should be right, we could both go late, tonight?"

"Okay."

"I'm tired, would it be alright to go upstairs for a while?" _Come with me. _

"Of course, Isabella."

"_Bella_."

"Bella"

"Thank you."

Turning away she made for the stairs, slow steps, willing him to catch up with her. He didn't. She felt defeated, wishing she could be bold, wishing she could ask him for her heart's desire.

He never told her which room to go to, assuming she would go to his bedroom, the same one they've been sharing. Should he have mentioned it? Should he have offered her another?

A few moments passed but he could wait no longer, he took for the stairs, climbing, pushing himself two at a time just as she'd imagined. Walking past the rooms, the doors were closed the way they always were.

Bella was lying on his bed, facing away from him, could he?

He wanted to.

He walked slowly into the room, not wanting to startle her, he just wanted to hold her.

He sat on his side of the bed, making her aware that he was there. She didn't move and didn't speak.

She could feel him with every part of her. Unable to move to him, she squeezed her eyes tight, not knowing what to do. He was really there. It was really happening.

He lay next to her. Touching her, it was life, feeling her, it was life.

_Speak my name, it's life. _

He couldn't go on without her now. She was in him. And he wanted to know her completely. So honest they had been for not long they had even known each others names and now he felt like his voice had been taken. Unable. Her presence was crippling, the fear of pushing too far. Today, that was wrong, he shouldn't have.

He knew even then but before it was fully realised, he was already moving, he reached for her, around her waist, just like before, in her own bed. He pulled her to him and she didn't fight, his face buried in her hair, at her neck. She went with him, to him, and let it out, the sadness, the longing to be free. He opened her up and set her free.

"I'm sorry." Whispers against her skin like fire birds flapping wings.

Hands, she wanted to feel, tracing lines and curves, across his knuckles, she spelt out the things she wanted. He squeezed her, so light, so tight. It felt good.

"You liked it?" Barely a sound for anyone but him, she speaks.

He wanted to smile but the room had changed, it was not all comfort and nice. It was more now. It was instinct. Animals roaming, delicious prey.

His face in her hair, breathing against her neck, he moved to find the spots she liked. She moved into him. A dance begun.

"Yes." His voice was different, the opposite to her own. He was not uncertain, or shy about what was intended.

She wanted to turn around, but was afraid of being faced with the reality she might not handle well, so she didn't, she stayed just to feel instead. He pressed his body to hers, testing her. Reacting to her.

Letting go, she closed her eyes, clocks painted pictures with signs and blood.

_We can make our own can't we?_

_We can make it out here, have something to hold with both hands, eventually, you'll be all the way in, all the way and who knows of it. Who knows the outcome. _

Her decisions, she let out, shakily but she knew now. Arching into him, lifting her head, she was exposed and he watched as she began to give herself over. His lips, they kiss, her neck, she feels and it was a dream, a power, alive.

He tasted her neck, the flesh of the girl, slowly did it. Wet, his tongue, only seconds, more seconds, until it was gone.

Isabella had no strength to fight with herself, no more fight at all.

Moving with him, she turned her head, meeting his eyes richer, not so cloudy, lit for her. Lips parted, she was trying to tell him, it was okay after all.

Ready, as he had been, just waiting, he had been so patient, willing, he would wait happily forever. Until that moment, she was looking at him, to see a change so new. From his eyes to his mouth, she followed and he knew too.

He was just alive as she. Pressed into her intense to feel. He wasn't embarrassed. He was better than ever.

His lips touched hers, briefly and softly.

_I press my lips to yours so you can see. Take them and let me taste. _

She took them, dancing, kissing her, he pulled her once more, her whole body with his whole body.

This was not just a kiss.

Wet lips she opened, and felt his tongue moving slowly, licking her sweetly. A moment to feel, before she met him the same, to taste him too.

She moaned into him, no cares because they were finally there.

No stopping their start up now, like crazy, like crazy stupid, lust filled madness. She moved above him. Body to body.

_Slow me down, she's tender, I can't. _

He followed her lead, only fire and sparks, they weren't dying. Panting into one another, divine.

Like that, just like that for a time they didn't care for.

Until the room was so dark, they didn't even notice it change.

"Edward?"

"You're hot.

"What?"

"You are so hot." A smile so bright, he knew would be there even though he couldn't see it.

"Edward, we should go, it's late. Just get it over with."

Reluctantly, they separate, left dizzy as she stood to her feet.

He gave her a sweater, it was thick, warm, and smelt of him. She pulled the sleeves over her wrists and hands and pressed one to her mouth, breathing him in one last time before stepping out into the cold.

They drove and for a while it was comfortable. Edward turned up the heat, and she fiddled with the radio trying to find something she liked until finally she turned it off and stared out the window. She was anxious, and concerned. She was trying not to worry, he said not to. She was trying to stay free, he said he wanted her to.

The lights were all out, only street lamps and neon leading their way.

She had eyes everywhere as they made it up the stairs, creeping, as if she was breaking in, as if someone was waiting in the shadows. Edward entered first. Bella after.

One bag, make it quick. The place was freezing, so cold he thought of her wrapped in blankets in the winter alone, attempting warmth. He felt sad. He felt right knowing she would never go back there after tonight.

Edward stood like stone, on guard, in the middle of the room. She ran around him, in and out, back and forth, grabbing things she kept remembering would be important.

"I need to make sure, there won't be another chance. He's going to realise eventually, he'll come and check."

"Does he have a key?" He was outraged at the thought of Benny, or Victor for that matter, entering whenever they pleased.

"Of course, it's all his." Not all. Not her. Not now, or ever.

"Has he ever used it?"

"No."

"Okay, let's go. Anything else we can buy."

She thought about the black dress. If she wanted it, whether she should take it. Her mother would think it something to keep.

And what about the other woman, the one who raised her, who lied to her, wasn't she her mother too? What would she think, she would tell her to stop being ridiculous, it's a piece of cloth, no different from any other.

Deciding to leave it, she zipped the bag closed, ready.

Edward took it from her, rushing them out. She locked up and once again, hurried, tip toes made for the car, to take them away.

Tip toe all they like, she knew there were means, and wondered if Benny would see her getaway regardless. Looking back on the road as they drove away, she stared at the blinking red she feared.

* * *

**_We are slow going, are you still with me? _**

**_For those of you who want to know, this story is more than 30 chapters long. _**

**_Thank you *_**


	14. Chapter 14

**_The names are not mine, the rest is._**

**_Please read the A/N at the bottom. _**

* * *

She felt a guilt, strong and on edge, for not telling Edward about the security cameras in and outside of the restaurant. She hoped Benny wouldn't check them, or maybe he would have Mike check them. Mike would never tell. Surely he would just know, and understand. She felt guilt anew for counting on his soft spot for her.

Benny wouldn't check though, would he?

Unless he used his key to check. But he never had before. Though, he never had reason to before, either.

"There are cameras."

"What do you mean?"

"They could have been watching us. I didn't really think about it until we were leaving, and then..."

"They won't come near you. I promise."

Drowning in worry, the upstairs window now her lookout.

She wanted to get out, leave herself and not be the girl that was hiding for a while.

"I like dancing."

"Pardon me?"

"I don't do it well, I'm kind of juvenile about it, and exciteable, and maybe I seem drunk when I really get into, but, yeah, I enjoy the way it makes me feel."

"Isabella, would you like to go dancing?"

"I'm trying to remember the things I like. The real world seems so far away now, you know?"

"You don't want to go dancing?" The moon's light played tricks across their faces.

"You really want to take me dancing, Edward?"

"If you'll have me." The boy took a bow, and held his hand above his head.

Silence fell for the moment, beats of one heart as they each imagined that very thing.

"What do you remember?" Baby steps, he took a shot.

The window became a safety, a glass box in breaking as she held it cold, fingertips tracing lines around the moon.

"I remember the day it all changed for me. And I remember their faces."

"Whose faces?"

"The people I thought were my parents."

"What changed?"

"I just found out. Like a leaf falling from a tree, as if it were normal. But it didn't feel that way. Not to me. To me, it was more comparable to a ton of bricks, a hole bashed through by force, right here, where my heart should be. Just like that. I wasn't even mad, really. Just numb. But see, they didn't want me to know. They didn't choose to tell me."

"That must have been awful for you. I'm so sorry." He held her hand.

"But I got out. I finally had the excuse, a real reason to not be there. I was finally free, Edward. Really free and even if my mom, my other mom, even if she didn't want to know me... I had that hope driving me."

"Why had you wanted to leave before that?"

"There was always this sense of... They didn't like me. They weren't like other parents, telling me to come home early because they worried, they just wanted to tell me what to do and how to do it. It was a game for them. Growing up, I could see all the differences between them and the other parents. I was an animal, living in a zoo. They were laughing at me, and I was theirs to do whatever with."

Like an animal.

Her words made him angry, made him want to push, punch, get more, find out what happened to her.

"What do you mean?"

That house, that room. That life was somebody else.

"I can't, Edward. I don't want to think about it." She met him whole then, a fresh trail of tears, a new way of speaking. She was in pain. She was begging.

He longed to bring her all the way, keep her close to him for always, take away the pictures behind those beautiful eyes, the colour of bad dreams and wash it all away.

With arms wide, and a hold that was strong, he lifted her into his arms, and swung her arm around his shoulder.

"Edward! What are you doing?" She giggled, wiping away the tears that had fallen.

He was gentle, slow and easy as he carried her.

She let her head fall to his shoulder. She let her heart open out to catch him.

She closed her eyes as he danced with her, holding her free.

"Distract me."

"How?"

"Take me somewhere else for a while."

The bed was soft. He held her, still, as he placed her there, with him above her, she felt beautiful.

Trembling silence, the boy explored, lips he had tasted, so much more he craved, a kiss so small, left on her skin.

Hand raised above her head, he held it there, open, free to be played by the safety she was learning. He painted pictures with touches soft.

Shaky fingers, the sensation was enormous, the feeling swam all the way down, tickling, tickling as it went. Bare wrist, clothes pushed aside, she tried to be still, to let him wander, but it was hard, it was so hard not to grip him, hold him, pull him, and have him.

She found him closer, his voice at her ear, "Do you trust me, Bella?"

She nodded frantically, "Yes, Edward. Yes."

"Then just breathe."

She let it out, a great big sigh of relief, and ease.

He pulled at her sleeve letting her know he wanted her to take it off, she pulled her arm in, he did the same with the other side and she lifted up as he pulled it over her head to see she was wearing one of his button up shirts.

Telling tales with tall fingers, from her ankle to her knee, she fought past the crash of life to feel him.

"Relax."

"I want to. I'm so nervous, jeez, I feel silly."

She closed her eyes once more as he moved to her other leg. It felt so nice, so simple, incredible. But she also felt selfish, like a child pouting. Even though she was so nervous, her mind raced to the part where he would undress her, and they would really be as one.

"You make me feel real."

She was overwhelmed by her feelings, as if she could really move again instead of the inertia she had come to recognise.

"Do it." She whispered.

"Bella..."

"Just do it."

His kiss was melting ice across her skin on a hot day, pin pricks across her scalp, waking up from a dream and still feeling immeasurably happy. She tasted him salty, man alive. They fell into one another over and over again as she pulled and pulled for more. Her body, living for his body, they were everything. They were beginning, just the beginning of never having to wait again.

She was out of control, unthinking, he was planning, never out of his mind for more than a few seconds.

Her hips became a dance, his body became the friction she was looking for. The release, she zoned in on.

"Wait..." He tried to pull away but it was so hard.

"You feel so good."

"You do too, but..."

"Stop talking." She moaned.

"Isabella, no."

"What's wrong?"

"We should stop."

"Why? You don't want to?"

"I don't want to rush this, I don't want to rush you."

"You're not, I'm fine." She tried to kiss him.

"I think we should stop."

"Edward, I'm okay. This, is okay. More than okay!" She knew she sounded desperate but continued to grab at his clothes, grabbing at his hair, her fingers running through wild, never stopping.

"Isabella, please. _I'm_ not ready."

She hadn't thought about that, about him. She just assumed. She had left her heart with him, thinking he would be waiting, waiting. She felt stupid, embarrassed. She wanted to hide.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Pressed against the side of her face, he spoke so carefully, so firmly, "I want to, believe me. You are so beautiful. I just... I do want to."

He kissed her head and grazed her nose with his.

"I know what we should do." She was smiling now, a mischievous look in her eye. She wanted to forget herself, have him forget their almost, and not at all. But most of all, have him stop looking at her like that.

"What? Anything."

"I'm going to start your book. And we're going to play a game. I want to know all about you Edward Cullen. Starting with this house." She pushed at him and jumped off the bed to retrieve the book he had given her. The one Carlisle had given him.

Edward lay there as images of his sister, and his father flooded his memory. His chest grew tight as the anxiety and anger, anger at himself for not being there to fight for her when she needed him, circulated his whole body, battling. Angry for not being there when they took her.

She would never be the same.

* * *

_**Chapter 15 preview...**_

She didn't argue with me, she didn't fight back. The one person I had fought with the most in this entire world and she refused to fight me. It only made me angrier, her unwillingness to engage me. Why she wouldn't let us in, was so... I was being selfish, I know that now. I was furious with her.

We had always been there for each other, always confided in one another, thick as thieves.

I felt abandoned all over again, I was being left out.

Refusing to accept, I grabbed her and made her face me. I made her.

Except she wasn't the girl I knew. Her face was, her skin was no longer the way it was supposed to be. Her lips were cut, swollen, her whole face, bruised and broken.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Thank you for reading. I'm sorry there was no chapter last week, I was away visiting my family. _

_My Nana was in the hospital, she was very sick, and sadly, after sitting with her for two days, she passed away. The funeral is on Tuesday, that's why I'm posting this now. _

_Writing helps. The days are hard._

_Thank you. _

_samrosey * _


	15. Chapter 15

**_The names are not mine, the rest is. _**

* * *

"Will knowing change anything for you?"

"No."

"Then why are we here again?"

"Because I'm stubborn. Because I'm afraid, afraid of not knowing what might jump out and derail me again. Because I don't like the idea of missing out, because of you, Edward. Because you are a surprise, and you're hurting, you walk around this house as if you might bump into one of them, and I don't know how to help you if you don't share those pieces of you with me."

"Is it really that easy? If I asked you one thing, right now, would you be able to answer, no matter what?"

"I would want to. I would fight myself to give you everything, if that's what you wanted." It wasn't easy, she knew. It hurt to break open for him. She was pulling him apart anyway.

"I want to." More than anything, he wanted to give her what she asked of him.

"It doesn't hurt any less being shut away inside."

"What if it hurts more?"

"You're not alone." She wanted to be there for him the way he had been for her.

A storybook flipping pages, words written alive. His eyes were open, his hands gripped beats to still the sound from pounding out of his chest.

"She didn't want me to go with them."

"Rosalie?"

"She didn't want anyone to go, she wanted to start over, be someone somewhere where nobody knew. But there was no way, no how that she would be left completely alone by either of us. She thought about only one thing then though, she couldn't see past it, how she would feel later, after..."

Edward stood to take his leave. Instead he found the window looking out. His forearm pressed above his head against the cold glass took his weight, and his confession strong. "It no longer matters, I guess."

She pressed a hand to his back, as if magical, as if a force as strong as what they felt between them could help him now.

"It matters."

The boy wanted to drown in the girl, a physical jump from heart to heart, bleeding lust, drip, dripping, she would be the drug to take away the pain, to feel again.

But he could never be with her that way, taint their light with his dark.

"I found her." Bella began something she didn't know she would be able to finish.

"What?"

Bella took the lead, purging whatever else was left. "So many times I tried to imagine her face, if we looked the same. She would wear pretty clothes, and be like one of those moms on TV. I'm not quite sure why I thought that would be possible, she gave me away. How could she be?"

She pulled him free from himself, and stood between his legs, pressed against his knees, she leant into him, hands from here to there, shoulders to hair, aimlessly wandering him as she continued with her story.

He searched her face, she was found far away, looking out at the black, sucked into another life she had run from, another life she knew inside and out. Her mother.

"I believed she was strong. I know because I saw it. But she was broken."

He held her waist, playing a soft song for her to hear when she was ready to come back to him.

"An accident they said, severe difficulties they said. Much bigger reasons for giving me away than I had originally thought. How could I blame her then? I had been selfish. I had been a fool to hope. I only wanted to be free to find... anything but what I had been given. But maybe it could be enough, and I thought about going back. Oh but, I had given all of my hope to this new woman. And even though I could see her, feel her, she wasn't really there, not with me anyway."

She cried silent tears as he watched, he watched her standing there, letting go. He watched them fade, watched her breathe breath after breath, and stand tall. He watched her fight.

"They said she wouldn't remember. That I could tell her, and she would acknowledge me, but then she would forget. And I would have to begin all over again. I couldn't take her forgetting me more than once, so I left."

"I am so sorry, Isabella." Warm fingers to dry away her sadness, she closed her eyes to his touch. A strength he gave her.

"I was seventeen when I ran away. I took anything, I mean anything of value I could find. I know it was wrong to steal from them. They had given me a home after all. But they weren't my parents, they didn't love me, didn't even like me. It was June, and almost my eighteenth birthday. I just had to hide, hide away until then and it wouldn't matter anymore, then they wouldn't have any more legal rights to my life."

She remembered the roads, the dark rooms, the floors she lay on, and the warehouses she snuck into, slept in and hid away from the world inside of. For months she moved not knowing where to move to.

At eighteen they would tell her where to find the woman she had longed for, the woman calling, the dream come true.

"I knew they looked for me. One time, I actually saw them, and another time someone, a man, a stranger, asked me one too many questions and I didn't know, couldn't know. But it was them, sending for me."

It was as if she was reliving the fear she felt once upon a time. She gripped him tightly, her new world, trying to keep him from being ripped from her through nightmares.

Sobbing sounds filled the room, her sadness had come. But she was away, still, lost to the nightmare.

"It's okay, I'm here. It's just you and me. They can't hurt you anymore."

He held onto her, standing there by that window. She refused him, time and time, as the tears fell more.

Afraid for her, he took her face in his hands. "Bella, they can't hurt you. Bella, come back to me. Please baby, come back to me."

A soft and soothing voice, a soft and soothing touch, tears she couldn't stop them.

"Edward. I don't want to. Please, I don't want to."

"Sshhh. You don't have to, they're gone. Nothing's going to happen, I won't let it. I promise, not ever."

Two are broken, too broken. Strong enough to fix each other, neither strong enough to fix themselves. Lost in a world that made them soft yet hard in all the wrong places.

Crying in his arms, he wondered about tomorrow and all the rest of the days. If not words of lives gone by were spoken, how could they go on without the moment that threatens to break them each and every time.

The longest day, the longest night. Morning ahead he took them to bed to dream the sadness away.

* * *

A busy day Edward didn't want to wake to. A term at the University lecturing he had been offered, decisions and writings on hold. He wanted her to know he would be around for her while everything in her life was in such chaos. He hated to say that life goes on but his father taught him well, he had responsibilities.

Bella acted as if last night were just any other. A new day they began together, she began quietly.

"Don't worry about me, I know you must have things to do. Just because I'm staying here, I don't want anything to have to change for you."

"Nonsense. It's taken care of. How are you feeling?"

A mask, pretend upon his face. Pretending to be someone else. Tell her now and pretend it's someone else's life you're telling. Oh, how he had longed to have someone, to trust someone enough to be able to share those things he was afraid of, the things that haunted him nightly.

"I feel good. Last night was so tiring but I'm glad we talked. Thank you, Edward. I feel so grateful, or something." Laughing awkwardly at herself, she fidgeted at his side as he sat at his desk.

The space between them was a peaceful bliss. She waited for him, and he waited for her, and together they waited for nothing because what they wanted was right there, in front of their faces.

He coaxed her body with his fingers, pulling her by the inch until she fell into his lap.

"I'm ready for so many things, I would like us to be..." Everything. "...would you like to see the rest of the house?"

She felt confused, what else was left to see?

"Now that you're staying here on a more permanent basis, I want you to have access to it all, just as I do, and there are things you should see. Things I need you to see."

He couldn't let her go without having another piece. Just one more, he thought. It would always be one more, he knew.

The feeling of his hand on her face, against her cheek, it was a kind of new sensation she had no name for. She couldn't even begin to speak the way he made her feel. His whispery lips, taunting her all the minutes she wasn't kissing them.

He touched her mouth with a kiss that was all too quick. It was delicate, it was simple. She kissed him back and then it was over, and there they were, standing.

Edward lead her up the stairs.

She touched her mouth with her fingers. Always one more.

"This room here and that room next to where the linens are, are always locked. I don't come in here much."

"Then why now?"

A look she didn't know, not the meaning or intent.

She didn't know what to expect and when it appeared in front of her, behind the large door unlike the others, she fell speechless, a sadness without words. She knew what it was, and she was listening closely, she was ready.

"This is Rosalie's room."

"It looks like..."

"Like it's never been left? I know. They didn't have time to take much with them and I daren't touch a thing. I know it's false hope, but... one day, right?

She looked at the dresser, full of different bottles with delicate labels, and trinkets full of accessories. The closet that was open, with only a few empty hanger spaces. Boxes and shoes, colours and smells. It was all there, a woman. It was all there, and unlike any part of the rest of the house. A woman. And she was gone.

Certificates and badges, photos stuck to a board, a photo in a frame.

She reached out to touch it, as if it could have brought her closer to knowing, but pulled back without thinking.

"That's my sister. The man in the photo was the one she hoped to be with, the man she chased, '_be his friend, find out if he likes me',_ Rose was confident, she didn't need me to make friends for her, or introduce her to the men she may have liked. She was beautiful, and intimidating to most, and I feel ashamed for my gender when I say it took a certain kind of man to be with her."

He got caught in the memory, light.

"She would get into fights, not with other girls, but with boys, with men. We would often get sent to the principal as teenagers. And a few times, the police station as adults."

A smile played on his face as he spoke fondly of his sister. But it couldn't last.

"Rose, she got tired of waiting." He picked up the picture frame, the smile fading. "He travelled a lot. She wanted to be adored, to be the most important thing, but she no longer felt that was the case."

He couldn't look at it any longer, and placed the frame back on the shelf, leaving to face the closet.

"She met a new man, he was already at the top of his game, and was everything she thought she should have. He was around more, he lavished her with attention, gifts, and parties. Together for six months, it was getting serious. But my father and I, we had only met him a handful of times. I was just happy to see her so happy. But Carlisle, he had questions that Rose wasn't prepared to answer, questions she didn't know the answer to."

He pushed against the closet door, a creak threatened a break, still he pushed and pushed.

"She told me she questioned him a few times, about his business affairs, things I don't know if she even cared about but our father, he kept on and on. Royce grew angry, aggressive, eventually telling her to keep out of it. She was shocked, that part of him was new. I remember she came to me and told me it was the first time she had ever walked away, this was Rose, she had never walked away from a fight, not from any man."

Edward was angry, spouting memories as though they came from yesterday.

"He didn't let go. I mean, we're not talking flowers or apologies here, he watched her. He watched her, and he followed her. She said she was only afraid because she couldn't see him. Lurking like some kind of creature, leaving notes for her. I went to see him once, do what she felt she couldn't do. I was used to fighting for Rose when she had had enough, we always got into fights, some worse than others. A few times I got bloodied, she would come to me after, confessing how it was all her fault, she had started it all. But this was different, Royce didn't fight me, not even with words. He was so calm, so relaxed about it. He was sly, he was clever. I saw it, what she told us, I saw it and told Rose we should go to the police. Tell them, show them the notes he wrote, the horrid things he said he would do."

"What did they say?"

Words he could never forget. Words he wouldn't ever say. Not for anything.

"She wouldn't. Carlisle even called them once but she refused to speak with them and they wouldn't do anything without a statement from her. Months went by the same, and the notes eventually started to fade, things started to become normal again and she began to act like Rosalie again, like the sister I knew. Emmett came back into town for Christmas and told her after his next trip, he was done, he was ready to be with her. It was all working out. That was love for her, a man and all of his self worth, that she really wanted."

"And your father?"

"Supportive, happy. We liked Emmett, we knew him. I had made a firm friendship with him in the beginning with the plan to help Rose catch him, and it stuck. She never told him about Royce though and Emmett went away for his last trip. Rosalie received the first note she had in ages. She had been herself again, you know. So she charged over there prepared to have it out with him, to put a stop to it once and for all, she wouldn't see it spoiled for her, her new life with Emmett."

Edward was quiet for a moment, Bella thought to go to him, to show some comfort for being brave with such sad stories. She stopped in the middle of the room as he began again.

"She went to his house, he was with his business partners, that much we know. She didn't come home that night, or for two days after that. She left a message explaining how upset her visit with him had been and not to expect her. She just wanted some time, we assumed she was readying herself to start over when Emmett came home. But when Rosalie came home she locked herself in here, and she refused to come out. He had set her back so far again, she wouldn't even speak to us. One night I heard her wake, heard her go downstairs, I couldn't stand it, we had never gone so long without speaking to one another before. I needed to know she was okay, and that she had put a stop to his games."

"Did she speak to you?"

"She was standing at the sink trying to turn the tap on, but she couldn't do it, I stood there and she just couldn't do it, there was something wrong and..." Burning words of anger, they didn't want to be told, they didn't want to be heard. "She heard me come in and immediately told me to leave, she said she was too upset and to leave her alone, she sounded... she sounded sick, unwell, her voice, it wasn't Rose. I didn't care, I fought with her anyway, yelling at her and when she still refused to look at me I shouted some more."

Edward's voice became weaker, it was painful to see. Bella wanted to hold him, whisper words of comfort.

But she didn't.

"She didn't argue with me, she didn't fight back. The one person I had fought with the most in this entire world and she refused to fight me. It only made me angrier, her unwillingness to engage me. Why she wouldn't let us in, was so... I was being selfish, I know that now. I was furious with her. We had always been there for each other, always confided in one another, thick as thieves. Refusing to accept, I grabbed her and made her face me. I made her. Except she wasn't the girl I knew. Her face was, her skin was no longer the way it was supposed to be. Her lips were cut, swollen, her whole face, bruised and broken."

The room began to suffocate, the floor too close. She was smothering him, the memory of her and how he had failed.

Bella fought to stay silent, not to gasp or cry.

"After I realised what must have happened, I called for Carlisle, she wouldn't tell us everything but agreed to go to the hospital. Broken ribs, a broken arm and a few broken fingers. The bruises were so bad, they covered whole areas. I was sick with madness, and just... numb. I couldn't process, it didn't seem real. And for days she said nothing, she just sat in her room and said nothing, in pain, Alone and in pain."

Edward was sobbing, crying tears and sounds so painful, Bella hurt for him, physically hurt for him and his memories.

"The doctors wouldn't speak to us at first, not at length, they examined her and told us the police would be called. Rosalie protested, she pleaded. The doctor told us it was imperative and that we ought to talk to her, to make her explain. They couldn't tell us. Carlisle, he seemed so calm all the time, even after. There were cracks sure, but I couldn't even see straight, he tried to make her speak and she refused. She was just so... empty, or full, I don't know. I didn't know how to help her."

He rubbed his hands across his face, taking a moment.

"I waited for Carlisle to leave. We always told each other everything. I held her hand, I told her I would never leave her side, and that she must tell me, she must let us help. I refused to leave her, she needed me, do you see, she had needed me and I wasn't there, but I would be, from that moment, I couldn't leave her. She was so hurt." He moved to the bed, and sat at the end of it. Bella stood not knowing what to do or how to move. "The second night they brought me something to sleep on. But I couldn't sleep, and she began to cry. I had never, she had never, not like that. I thought maybe she imagined me sleeping and so I let her be so she could do what she needed to do. But she knew I wasn't, and in the middle of the night, alone with my sister, she told me."

A deep breath through hard tears. Bella no longer recognised his voice. This Edward was different now.

"Three of them, Royce and his friends. She was just a chew toy to them, something to be used, and destroyed."

He could no longer see the room for what it was, only what it had become, a shrine to a life that once was.

"Taking it in turns like animals. She fought them and they beat her. Because she fought, she almost died. And I'm positive that afterwards she wanted to."

Bella covered her mouth to keep from sobbing, to keep from throwing up right there on Rosalie's carpet.

She couldn't stay away from the boy any longer. Throwing herself at him in protection, a comfort, or even a drug, anything to help him feel something other than what he felt in that moment, and all those moments before.

She had no words, no proper thoughts on where to go from there. Only herself, only her heart, strong, and holding, holding his, helping his to beat when he needed it the most.

* * *

**_Your heartfelt messages meant a lot to me. _**

**_Thank you. *_**


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